


The Changeling

by shadowwalker213



Series: JUGGERNAUT [1]
Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-17 20:01:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 87,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowwalker213/pseuds/shadowwalker213
Summary: Changeling - One who is left or taken in the place of another, as a child exchanged by fairies or trollsStory starts out during the episode "Firing Line".I have taken great liberties with the descriptions of Redondo State Beach so don't hold me to them.Originally published November 2004





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Changeling - One who is left or taken in the place of another, as a child exchanged by fairies or trolls
> 
> Story starts out during the episode "Firing Line".
> 
> I have taken great liberties with the descriptions of Redondo State Beach so don't hold me to them.
> 
> Originally published November 2004

I believe that sometimes you have to look reality in the eye and deny it. - Garrison Keillor

  
  
  
  
Randy sat up, stretched. He was cold. He needed to find a thicker blanket. Soon. He stared up at the ceiling. It was really just the top of his box, but he preferred to think of it in terms of his 'house'; therefore he looked at his ceiling. It had rained during the night and there was some seepage. Not too bad. He'd found a large sheet of plastic a couple days before and wrapped it carefully around the large box, for protection. So far it was working pretty well.  
  
He looked around his home. He was pretty proud of it, actually. He’d been really lucky that day, finding the box. From a big freezer. Much better than what he’d had before. He had even made two rooms in it, sorta. An old movie poster divided his 'bedroom' from the front end of the box, the part he called his living room. Sam thought it was dumb, but liked to sit in there with Randy anyway.  
  
Sam was Randy’s best friend. They watched out for each other’s stuff. Took care of each other when they were sick. Shared their food. Sam didn’t have a box like Randy’s, but he wasn’t jealous. He’d helped Randy haul it over here. One day they’d find another, and then Sam would have his own. For now, he had a smaller box coupled with some wood panels, just enough room to curl up in, but Randy had shared the plastic he’d found, so at least Sam stayed dry. Sam spent most of his time with Randy, anyway. They liked it that way.  
  
Well, enough gathering dust. Time to get moving. If he was lucky today, Joey would be working at the deli. Joey always saved him the scraps. Yeah, maybe he'd be lucky today...  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal was the first one awake, as usual. And, as with every morning, when he woke, his first conscious thoughts were of him. Even after all these months, the feeling was just as intense now as it had been the very first day. Shock, anger, sorrow. He’d still been tangled in the cobwebs in his head, after their revival following the ‘executions’, when Stockwell had pulled him to one side and told him. Hannibal made him repeat it.  
  
"We didn’t know about the heart condition. Apparently a hidden defect, which had been getting worse over the years. The drugs Mr. Santana used to fake your deaths were simply too strong under those circumstances."  
  
Hannibal had immediately demanded to see the body, convinced there was a mistake. But there had been no mistake. Hannibal had grasped the hands and felt the face that had been with him for so many years. Cold. Ice cold. Cold and almost hard, like marble covered in a thin sheet of putty. Eyes and mouth slightly open, as if he were just waking up. The life gone; it was like looking at a stranger.  
  
Hannibal went numbly back to his team, and painfully told them. BA started hitting the wall. Just kept hitting it. It took Stockwell’s men to subdue Murdock, his anger and pain directed at Frankie. Frankie himself was in complete shock. He kept mumbling that there was ‘just no way’ those pills could do that. It didn’t matter. Hannibal didn’t want to think about blame, or anger, or anything else for that matter. The only thing he had to hold onto was that the man had died with the hope of real freedom.  
  
The next few weeks were dulled, dream-like. They took care of business, moved into Stockwell’s accommodations, and did what they were told. Those had been busy days, weeks. Which was just as well. Didn’t give them a chance to dip too deeply in self-pity or sorrow. Only at night, and then he could hear not just one softly letting go of their grief. Himself among them. Murdock had eventually gotten over his anger at Frankie, which was good, considering Frankie had been moved in as part of the team. There really was no way the kid could have known. None of them had had any idea that their friend was anything other than 100% healthy. Hannibal doubted if he knew himself.  
  
The frenetic days had slowed now, and Hannibal awoke first every morning, and, as with every other morning, his first thoughts were of Face.  
  
*****  
  
Randy and Sam had been together for a long time. They’d met at the VA hospital. Randy couldn’t remember not being there. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He remembered Nam. Parts of it. The bad parts. But it seemed that one day he was over there, the next he was at the VA. And that’s where he’d stayed. That’s where Sam had met him. ‘Made his acquaintance’, was how Sam put it.  
  
Sam was smart. Especially about the VA. He knew how to do things, get things. Even the nurses; Randy thought it was funny, the way they swarmed around him. A real lady killer. He told Randy he was smart, too, in his own way. He was just ‘different’. Randy liked that better than what the doctors said. They told him he was ‘trainable’, like a dog. Randy preferred being ‘different’.  
  
Randy didn’t know why Sam was there. Sam would never say. ‘Didn’t matter.’ He wouldn’t tell Randy how long he’d been there, either. Randy just knew that that first day, when Randy understood where he was and that he wasn’t in-country any more, Sam had shown up. And he’d never left him. Even when they sent Randy to a halfway house, and told him he would be taught a trade, Sam went right along with him. And when Randy got beat up by one of the other residents, Sam gathered their few belongings and they left. Randy never did learn a trade.  
  
They had tried to stay near the VA. Randy was supposed to go there every week and pick up his pills. He didn’t like taking them, but Sam said he had to or he would get really sick. So Sam made sure they went there every week, and he made sure Randy took the pills every day. Sam couldn't tell them what they were for. Said it was something about the way Randy thought about things. Didn't matter. Sam said he should take them, so he did.  
  
Not that Randy didn't do things for Sam, too. Like the plastic for his house. And if Joey was working the deli, Sam always got some of that, too. And, as Sam had said, Randy was smart in his own way. He knew how to get things they needed, too. He made friends with people and then they'd give him things. It was easy. All he had to do was smile.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal had pulled the death certificate out of the drawer for what must have been the millionth time. Murdock watched him, frowning deeply.  
  
"Why do you keep doing that, Hannibal? It's not going to change anything."  
  
"I know, Murdock. But I just can't...there's something wrong. All the times Face was in a hospital, all the times Maggie checked him over - and nobody noticed anything? There's something wrong."  
  
"Well, if it was like Stockwell said, it wasn't noticeable unless you were looking for it. And with the drug..." Murdock stopped. It was still almost impossible to think about, killing his best friend trying to save him.  
  
"Frankie swore the drug wasn't that powerful." He sat staring at the document for a long time. "I'm going to send this to Maggie."  
  
Murdock stared. "You can't do that, Hannibal! If Stockwell finds out..."  
  
"He won't find out. He can't keep his eye on us 24-7, especially when we're out on one of his little jobs."  
  
"But Maggie thinks you're dead, Hannibal. How can a dead guy send her a death certificate for another dead person? Especially when the death certificate doesn't match the way he was supposed to have died? And then saying that the death certificate might be wrong in either case..." Murdock stopped, confusing himself.  
  
"I'll have to let her in on the secret, Murdock. Tell her everything. I need her to get the autopsy report. And not the one that Stockwell handed out."  
  
"You really think Stockwell pulled something?" There was a hint of anger in Murdock's voice. If he thought Stockwell had anything to do with Face's death...  
  
"I just know that something isn't right about the whole damn thing. And I need Maggie to find out what it is."


	2. Chapter 2

"They're working out quite well, aren't they?"  
  
General Stockwell sat at his desk, continued to write without answering. Carla sighed. After all these years, she should be used to this cold contempt with which Stockwell treated everyone around him. She knew he would answer her; he would just take his own time to do it.  
  
He signed his name with a determined slash, tossed down the pen, leaned back in his chair.  
  
"Yes, they seem to be. I was concerned at first, after Peck, but they're well-trained soldiers. They'll follow orders. In their own fashion, of course, but they will follow them. That's what matters, in the end."  
  
"Sir, about Peck..."  
  
"That's a closed subject now, Carla. He's out of our hands."  
  
Carla sighed again. "Not technically, sir. I should be kept up to date. I can't do my job if I'm not privy to all the information. Eventually..."  
  
" 'Eventually' is not a certainty, Carla. We don't know what's going to happen. Neither do they. That," he stated almost condescendingly, "is why it's called an experiment."  
  
"I still think they should have used Santana. He wasn't even a member of the team."  
  
"They didn't use Santana because we needed him. He knows explosives. We kept the ones that were necessary. The only one who was superfluous for our requirements was Peck. And he happened to be exactly what they were looking for. The decision was obvious. And now," he pointed out, "Santana is a member of the team."  
  
"Yessir. Will I get the updates?" Carla was subordinate only to a point. She had a job to do.  
  
It was Stockwell's turn to sigh. "Very well, Carla. On the off chance he's useful to us in the future, I'll make sure you are kept in the loop. Satisfied?"  
  
"Yessir. Quite." Carla moved out of the office, a small smile on her face.  
  
*****  
  
It stayed cold that day. Neither he nor Sam had really warm jackets. They'd gone to the Church "closet", as they called it, but nothing there yet. The woman working there said donations weren't coming in yet. Another week. Closer to Thanksgiving. That's when donations really took off.  
  
They wandered around for a bit. Randy wanted to go to Loring Park. It probably wasn't the greatest place for two straight men to walk around together, but Randy didn't care. It was a nice park. It was the farthest place from the VA they usually went. Just over two hours to walk there, which wasn't bad considering all the side trips they usually made on the way. Sam kept telling Randy he needed to focus more on what he was doing, not 'gallivant around' so much. Randy just laughed. What fun was taking a walk if you couldn't check out everything along the way?  
  
Sam had been quiet most of the day. That wasn't like him. Finally Randy asked him about it.  
  
"Randy, we can't stay here any more. It's getting too cold. If we stay, it'll mean using the shelters every night, if there's room. If there isn't room..." Sam shivered just thinking about it. "We have to move further south, or west."  
  
Randy stared at Sam, open-mouthed. "Move? But Sam, I just got my house all set up. And we were gonna find you a new one, too, remember? We'd be real neighbors then. Like real people. And it'll be snowing soon, Sam. We gotta see the snow!"  
  
Sam sighed. He knew Randy didn't cope well with change. Moving out of the VA, then out of that half-way house - both had shaken Randy badly. One reason Sam made sure he kept taking those pills. He didn't like it, but he knew it was the only thing holding the man together now. And things had been working out. Sam had left it to Randy to decide what they should do after leaving the half-way house. It hadn't been the greatest decision, but Randy had coped. He'd adapted. That's what mattered.  
  
Sam had known they would have to leave Minneapolis soon, but the cold had moved in earlier than expected. He really hadn't had the chance to prepare Randy properly for this next move. It was going to be difficult now. Randy had put down roots, such as they were. That was important to him. But Sam couldn't in all good conscience stay here with him. The shelters were always overcrowded when the cold weather set in. Sometimes there wasn't enough room for everyone, period. And then they'd start finding frozen bodies in the mornings. There was just no way Sam would take that kind of chance with Randy. He was too important.  
  
"We can't wait for the snow to come, Randy. We've talked about this before, remember?" They hadn't, but Randy would now think they had. He wouldn't want to admit to forgetting it. It wasn't nice, but it made things easier. That was the secret to dealing with Randy. Knowing how to con him into doing things he didn't want to do.  
  
He watched Randy as he tried to remember this so-called conversation. Sometimes Sam felt badly, lying to him. But he had to. He had to keep him safe. He had to teach him. So many things Randy had to learn if he was going to survive. Without Sam, Randy would never make it. And Randy had to make it. Sam didn't dare fail.


	3. Chapter 3

Maggie sat at her desk, holding a piece of paper in her hand. She had read it over and over, tears streaming down her face. She had gone through hell during the trial. She had gone up into the mountains, not wanting to be around the house and his presence there, on the day he would die. Now, to learn that it had all been a sham...She didn't know if she should be shouting with joy or outrage. Then she had to couple that with the news about Face. For the longest time, after reading those first sentences, she had simply stared at the wall, seeing the youngest team member the last time he'd been at Bad Rock. Laughing, vibrant, healthy.  
  
Healthy.  
  
Almost automatically she had finished reading the letter. Hannibal had serious doubts about the circumstances of the death. He wanted her to investigate. Find out what really happened. He didn't trust this man, General Stockwell. He had enclosed a copy of the death certificate.  
  
She pulled the document from the envelope. Glancing at the cause of death, she decided it made sense, as far as it went. Drug reaction on aortic valve stenosis, an abnormal narrowing of the valve, which prevented it from opening properly. For someone Face's age, that would almost have to have been caused by a birth defect. Which is exactly what this Stockwell had told John. It would have been easy to miss, until the stenosis had progressed. Again, what Stockwell had told him. And the kind of drug they had used would definitely have put a strain on the heart.  
  
But, and Maggie knew this was a huge 'but', for the drug to have actually caused death, Face's heart would have had to have been in bad shape. And that's where things fell apart. The stenosis could not possibly have been that advanced. If it were, Face would have been out of action long before they became involved with Stockwell. And the last time Maggie had seen Face, shortly before the arrest, he had been completely normal.  
  
Hannibal was right. Face should not be dead, at least not for the reasons they had been given. The problem would be getting the actual autopsy report. If General Stockwell had gone to all this trouble to lie about the death, she just knew the report was going to be next to impossible to see.  
  
That didn't mean she wasn't going to give it one hell of a try.  
  
*****  
  
Randy and Sam had made their way south rather easily. Sam had made quite a find the day before they were to leave - a dropped wallet, with several hundred dollars in it. Almost a miracle. Randy's first instinct was to turn it in, until Sam pointed out that if the owner were worried about money, he would have been more careful with his wallet. Obviously whoever had owned it was not in need of the money, whereas he and Randy were. Randy could see the logic in that. And it meant they could ride in style to their new home. Greyhound, all the way.  
  
Sam had given Randy some of the money, and insisted he purchase the tickets. He could choose wherever he wanted to go, as long as it was warm. That put Randy in a panic. There were too many places to choose from. He stood for a long time in the bus station, looking at the schedule. The names of the cities were getting all jumbled in his head. He read the same page over and over, until finally Sam came to the rescue. He gently opened the schedule to Florida, and told Randy to put his finger on the page, anywhere. That's where they would go. If they didn't like it, they'd just go somewhere else. That suited Randy just fine. Leave it to Sam to know what to do.  
  
Randy felt more confident when he walked up to the ticket desk. This was more to his liking, talking to people. He stepped up to the clerk, smiling that smile, making the clerk smile warmly back at him. It never seemed to matter that his clothes were worn or dirty, that he himself was less than hygienic. People would frown when they saw him coming, and then he would smile at them, such a genuine, warm smile, and they couldn't help but smile back.  
  
Many times Sam had watched the man work his charm; Randy was not even aware that he was doing it. It was just natural to him. It wasn't innocence; no, Randy knew that he wanted to get something from the people he wove his magic on. But he didn't have to work it, like Sam did. Sam could charm the venom from a snake, but it didn't come naturally. It was something he had learned and honed over many years. Randy just did it.  
  
He was doing it now, with the clerk. She practically fell over herself, explaining carefully where they would go first, what bus to transfer to, when they would arrive. Making a couple changes so they would be on the most direct route.  
  
Sam smiled. It was times like this that his job didn't seem quite so difficult. Randy had a lot to learn and it wouldn't be easy, but he would be okay. Somehow Sam just knew it.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal mailed the package to Maggie while on a job in Mexico. Stockwell hadn't known when they would get back into the city so it was easy to drop it at the post office. Now the hard part came. Waiting. Waiting for an opportunity to contact Maggie directly, find out if she had gotten it, find out if she had been able to do anything, find anything.  
  
He had looked up this heart thing. Had done that almost immediately. It was plausible, he supposed, for Face to have had that particular problem. But it didn't sound like it could have gotten that bad, not without some sign.  
  
He sighed deeply. Sometimes he wondered why he was doing this. He was jeopardizing their deal with Stockwell. Jeopardizing the pardons. Putting not only his future at risk, but BA and Frankie's futures as well. For what? As Murdock had said, it wouldn't change anything. Face was still...dead. Knowing what really killed him wouldn't change that fact.  
  
So why go through all of this? Because he was stubborn, he supposed. Because he had to make sense of it. He'd lost men before, but he always knew the why and the how without any doubt. A bullet, a grenade, starvation in the camp - it was always cut and dried. He didn't like it, he grieved for them, but he could accept it. This was different. There was something out of kilter. He couldn't accept it as it was given to him. This was just...different. Damn it. This was Face...  
  
*****  
  
Maggie's first move was to contact the doctor listed on the death certificate. It had taken the man until the next day to return her call. Surprisingly, he was very helpful. Yes, he had done the autopsy himself. As expected, birth defect resulting in a bicuspid valve. Had taken years to deteriorate. The stenosis was quite advanced. No question about the cause of death. Yes, he would send the autopsy report, that day.  
  
Maggie hesitated before making her next request. The doctor was surprised; it was unusual but he readily agreed.  
  
Maggie hung up the phone, thoughtfully. She prayed she was right. But if she was, John was working for some kind of monster...


	4. Chapter 4

They had been on the bus for two days. Another six hours or so and they would arrive in Belle Glade, Florida. Sam had no idea what kind of town it was. The first thing he would have to do is help Randy find the nearest VA hospital or clinic, so he could get his pills. There would have to be a slight delay, while arrangements were made for them. Randy hadn't told him where in Florida they were going - wanted to surprise him. It was irritating, but what could he say? He'd left a quick message before they got on the bus, letting his people know they were on the way to Florida; that's all he could do. Randy hadn't given him his ticket stub until they were actually seated on the bus.  
  
For once, Randy wasn't letting the disruption in his life get him rattled. He watched out the window, pointing out every possible landmark he could. Sam sometimes marveled at Randy's enthusiasm for everything. Absolutely everything. Randy enjoyed life. Pure and simple.  
  
Eventually, the rumble and sway of the bus, plus the long hours of inactivity, lulled Randy to sleep. It gave Sam a chance to catch his breath. He started making plans in his head.  
  
Find the VA first. Make sure they got in touch with Randy's real doctors, got the medications down there as soon as possible. Randy would only have four days worth by the time they arrived. Then he would have to start working with Randy more diligently. He'd passed the 'tests' they'd set for him so far. Now they would be getting more and more difficult. Sam would still be able to help him out, but he would have to start pulling away in that department. Eventually he would only be a bystander. There was no set time table; that was part of the experiment, to see how long it would take.  
  
Sam thought idly about the end of this. It might be months yet. Then again, Randy might succeed better than they expected. Sam had not lied when he told Randy he was smart. That had been one of the criteria. They hadn't counted on the mental problems. That was something the doctors were working on, refining the medications to alleviate that. Another thing they had had to adjust for. Not Randy's fault - that was the doctors' screw up. It wouldn't be counted against him.  
  
Sam also thought about Randy's past. He had the full packet. Knew all the facts about him. He hadn't known what the actual person was like, though. He wondered if he was as enthusiastic then as he was now, or if that was part of the changes that had inadvertently occurred. He knew the confusion and problems with concentration were new to Randy. From his own experiences, Sam knew Randy could not have done the things he did before if he'd had those problems.  
  
What bothered him most about this whole thing was the memory loss. Randy had had a life before this. People he cared about. Plans for his future. His history. Most of that was gone. Psychologists. Sam had begun to hate them. There was no drug, no surgery that could selectively destroy portions of a person's memory. So, over the first few weeks they'd had Randy, they had worked him over but good, psychologically. Brainwashing of the highest magnitude. Thoughts of past events or people brought up other ugly - and false - memories along with them. So, like adult survivors of child abuse, he had pushed it all so far back into his memory it would be nearly impossible to retrieve. They allowed him to remember only what they wanted him to, needed him to. Sam was glad he'd had nothing to do with that phase.  
  
Sam had had to leave people behind, too. The whole experiment was classified as "top secret". He couldn't tell anyone what he was doing, where he was going. Had just left them. But it was different for Sam. He could still remember his past. And he thought about it a lot. Regretfully. By the time this was all over with, he didn't know if he would have that life to go back to or not. Whether he would be able to explain things away or not. It would be difficult at the least. And he'd never be able to tell them what he'd been doing. Top secret. Damn.  
  
He watched Randy as he slept. The two of them, so much alike, so different. Sam didn't know what would happen to either of them when this was finally done.  
  
*****  
  
Carla was updating her files. Looking at the records from the coroner. That was odd. She didn't see any record of Smith requesting a copy of the autopsy. She would have expected that. Perhaps Stockwell had gotten it for him. Carla liked her records complete. She put in a call to the doctor who had done the autopsy.  
  
"Yes, ma'am, General Stockwell got, uh, three copies. One was for you. Said another was for a Colonel Smith or Jones or something like that."  
  
Carla smirked. She hadn't met this doctor but pictured a befuddled professor type. "Okay, Doctor, thank you. I just need to keep track of things."  
  
"Oh, well, there was one more request. In fact, I just sent it off the other day."  
  
Carla stopped dead still. "From General Stockwell?"  
  
"Uh, no, ma'am, it was from a Dr. Sullivan, out in California. Can't remember the name of the town right off hand, though. I'd have to look that up."  
  
"You kept a written record of it?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am. Both General Stockwell and Dr. Barish wanted me to keep very careful records. Uh, let's see here..." Carla could hear him shuffling papers, "...yes, she was from a place called Bad Rock, California. Funny, too." He told her about Maggie's other request.  
  
Carla sat thinking, hard. This could either be a major catastrophe or a fantastic gold mine, depending on how she played it.  
  
"Ma'am? You still there?"  
  
Carla shook herself mentally. "Yes, doctor. Listen, I want you to bury that request by Dr. Sullivan. Do you understand what I'm saying? Don't destroy it. Just...'lose it'. It's very important."  
  
The coroner sounded doubtful. "I don't know, ma'am. What if the General or Dr. Barish asks me for it?"  
  
"Then you give it to them. But if you don't tell them about it, they won't know to ask for it, will they?"  
  
"Well, no..."  
  
"Then I don't want you volunteering anything to anyone. And if there should be any further inquiries, I want to know immediately. Regardless of who they come from." Her tone of voice brooked no argument.  
  
She hung up the phone, staring at it, thinking. Eventually, Stockwell would learn of this. Probably so would this Dr. Barish. She wasn't familiar with him. Or her. No names were exchanged in this whole matter. She didn't really know who she was dealing with over there. She would have to do some checking. Discreetly. Very discreetly.  
  
And at some point, she needed to meet with Dr. Maggie Sullivan.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam watched Randy as they wandered down the streets of Belle Glade. Randy had already fallen in love with the name and was eagerly looking for just the right place to settle in. Sam had been able to curb his enthusiasm long enough to check the phone book for the nearest VA facility and wasn't happy. It was nearly 40 miles away. He’d have to do something about that before Randy was too decided on this place.  
  
"Randy. Randy!" Sam couldn’t get his attention; he was too excited. "Randy, listen!"  
  
Other than two times when Randy had been sick, Sam had never had any physical contact with him. No particular reason, it just hadn't happened. So Sam didn't even think about it when he grabbed Randy's arm to get his attention. It was the wrong thing to do. Sam suddenly found himself up against the wall of a building, Randy's forearm tight against Sam's throat, the other hand holding the offending arm twisted behind him. There was a cold fury in Randy's eyes.  
  
Sam forced himself to relax. The last thing he wanted to do was go one on one with Randy in the middle of the street. People were already stopping, staring, starting to move closer. It was also getting a little difficult to breathe, as the pressure on his neck never let up. Sam kept smiling, hoping his docility would calm Randy and the crowd.  
  
For a long few seconds, Randy glared at Sam. Just as suddenly as the attack was launched, he stepped back, releasing his hold. Sam gasped, grabbing his throat and rubbing it gently.  
  
"For chrissake, Randy, what the hell was that?" he croaked out.  
  
"Don’t ever touch me. Just...don’t..." The anger in Randy’s eyes was suddenly replaced by confusion, then panic. "Sam, I...I’m sorry...I’m sorry, Sam, don’t be angry, Sam, please don’t be angry, I didn’t mean it..."  
  
"Hey, hey, it's okay, Randy, really. Just calm down, okay?"  
  
"You won't go, will you, Sam? I won't do it again, I promise! Please don't go away!"  
  
"Randy, I'm not going anywhere. I just don't understand what happened." Sam spied a small cafe that looked nearly deserted. Perfect. "C'mon, let's get something to eat, and we'll talk, okay?"  
  
Silently, Randy nodded and followed Sam into the cafe. They ordered coffee, and sat in silence in a rear booth, Randy staring at the table top. Sam tried to appear unruffled, but inside his stomach was churning. No one had prepared him for anything like this. Mainly because it wasn't supposed to happen.  
  
*****  
  
Maggie sorted through the mail. She was watching anxiously for the package from the coroner but almost missed it anyway. Just a plain manila envelope, no return address, no 'official' markings on it whatsoever. If it hadn't been for the postmark from Langley, VA, she would have dropped it on the pile with the rest of the mail and left it for another time.  
  
Her hands shook slightly as she opened it. The first thing she grabbed was a sheaf of stapled papers - the autopsy report. She barely glanced at it. She already knew what it said. Then she drew out the other items she had asked for and examined them closely.  
  
She hoped John would call her soon. Very soon. She had to get the details, all the details, of that day. The day they were 'executed'. She had to know exactly what had happened.  
  
She looked again at the photos of the deceased. It was not Templeton Peck.  
  
*****  
  
Carla was watching Colonel Smith carefully as Stockwell outlined their next mission. They would be leaving for South America the next day, to take care of a little matter concerning forged customs papers. Carla caught a little glint in the colonel's eye. Uncharacteristic, considering the team generally looked on these assignments with distaste. She turned to Stockwell, speaking low into his ear.  
  
Stockwell straightened, cocking an eyebrow at her. She frowned slightly, trying to tell him not to say anything overt. Stockwell wasn't dumb. He never leaped into things. He made quick decisions, not impulsive ones.  
  
"Oh, and you'll have a little company on this trip, Colonel. A couple of my men will be going along, gain some experience in the field."  
  
"I'm not wet-nursing any of your people, General. I don't want to be watching their butts when I should be concentrating on the job." Hannibal was pissed. If there were Ables along, it would make it nearly impossible to contact Maggie.  
  
"You won't have to worry about them, Colonel. They're perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. I merely want them to learn a few things from you. They'll just watch..."  
  
Stockwell stared into Hannibal's eyes. There was no mistaking it. Stockwell knew there had been a breach in his security. He just couldn't prove it. Hannibal's glance slid over to Carla. Incredibly, she gave a sly smile. Hannibal immediately realized the stakes had just gone up a notch.  
  
There was another player in the game...


	6. Chapter 6

The ride back from the compound was silent. Carla knew Stockwell would demand an explanation soon. He was playing with her again. He wanted her to think he wasn't upset about the security break. Didn't want her to think that he was surprised that she had known what he hadn't. She also knew he would want an explanation as to why she hadn't said something before. This was not going to be easy.  
  
"Well, have you thought it through yet, Carla?"  
  
"I'm sorry, General?" Bluff for time...  
  
"Have you come up with a plausible reason for not telling me about your suspicions before this?"  
  
Pompous ass he might be, Carla mustn't forget he was smart. He hadn't gotten where he was by being stupid. Well, play it honestly. Somewhat.  
  
"I really have no excuse, General. I apologize. I had heard a few rumors, but that's all. I was hoping to have it checked out before I bothered you with it. It wasn't until I thought about the team going out of the country that I realized it could be a problem - if the rumors were true."  
  
"Hmm." Stockwell didn't know whether to believe her or not. Carla never expressed any emotion; one of the things that had been attractive about bringing her in as his assistant. It had its drawbacks, however. How did one look for ulterior motives in a machine?  
  
"Where did these 'rumors' come from?"  
  
Carla thought fast. Which of the Ables assigned to the team owed her big time? And which one could she get to before Stockwell did?  
  
"Able 13 brought it up, sir. He hadn't heard them himself, just comments made by some of the others. He couldn't even remember who exactly." It sounded lame, but often rumor mills were rather murky.  
  
"Hmm." Stockwell either didn't believe her or was playing his cards close to his chest. "You felt it warranted this intervention, then?"  
  
"Until we can prove or disprove the rumors, I thought it best, sir."  
  
"Very well. I'll expect a full investigation and report, Carla. Soon."  
  
"Yessir." Carla looked out the window. She was getting good at this.  
  
*****  
  
Randy had hardly touched the meal in front of him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a cheeseburger. A real cheeseburger. Another time he would've wolfed it down. Now, just the thought of eating it made him feel sick to his stomach. He stole a glance at Sam, who was eating as if nothing at all had happened.  
  
Randy had no idea where that anger had come from. No idea how he'd gotten Sam up against the wall like that. It was like magic. Evil magic. There was a guy at the VA, he was telling everybody how this evil spirit had gotten inside him and made him do things like that. Randy hadn't believed him. But maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe that spirit had gotten inside him, too. He wished he'd listened to that guy, now. He didn't know how to get rid of it. He'd ask Sam, but he was afraid Sam was mad at him. Sam would know what to do. Sam always knew what to do. But Sam was mad at him. Sam was so mad at him. He just knew it.  
  
He stole another glance at his friend. Sam stopped eating for a moment, smiled at him. Why would Sam smile at him if he was mad at him? Sam was smart. Maybe he just wanted Randy to feel better. Feel calm. Feel safe. So he could get back at him. Randy thought Sam was his friend, but maybe not any more. Randy hadn't meant to choke him. But maybe Sam didn't believe him. So he was going to get even with him. Teach him a lesson.  
  
If Randy wanted to get even with Sam, he knew what he would do. He would make that evil spirit go inside Sam. But Randy already had it inside, so what would Sam do? Randy looked at the cheeseburger. They never spent money on stuff like this. Never. Why would Sam spend his money on this stuff now, when he was mad at Randy? Maybe that was how he was going to get something bad into Randy. Something to make him sick. Or die, even.  
  
Randy glanced at Sam one more time. You said it yourself, Sam. I'm not stupid. I know what you're trying to do.  
  
*****  
  
"What are we gonna do now, Hannibal?" BA dropped the last broken mic into the garbage. Every day he swept the place, either destroying or marking the various listening devices around the house. And the next day, just like clockwork, the Ables would have put new ones in. It was a game. If Hannibal wanted Stockwell to hear what they were saying, or didn't care, they talked in certain rooms. If he wanted privacy, they talked in others.  
  
"We're going to be down there for at least a week. A lot can happen in a week. If there's only two of them, it shouldn't be that much of a problem. After all, there's four of us. They can't keep tabs on all of us all of the time. The only thing we have to worry about is them knowing they've been hoodwinked. It also means that I may not be the one who's able to call Maggie. If she got the package, she's probably going to have a lot of questions."  
  
Hannibal paused. None of them were going to want to do this. "No matter which one of us has the opportunity to make that call, we all have to be able to answer any of those questions. That means we all have to know exactly what happened. We know from our own parts, but we've never talked about all of it. What each of us saw, heard, did. So," he stood, taking on the cold, professional military attitude, "we're going to debrief."  
  
"Colonel..." Murdock began. He did not want to go over this. He knew, from looking at Frankie, that he wasn't the only one. After all, it had been his plan and Frankie's pills that killed Face.  
  
"Murdock, we have to. We may be running missions for Stockwell, but our only real mission right now is finding out what really happened to Face. We need to, Murdock. I can only speak for myself, but I think it's true for all of us. I have to do this before I can move on. I don't trust Stockwell, especially on this. Until I know what happened..." Hannibal stopped short. He wasn't going to plead. But he wanted their cooperation.  
  
Murdock looked at his Colonel. He'd known Hannibal had been torn apart by this whole mess. He hadn't realized just how badly.  
  
"So, who's first?" He sat, ready to work this mission. Completely.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam watched Randy carefully. He wasn't sure where the attack had come from, what part of his friend's brain had kicked in with that response. Until he knew better what was going on inside Randy's head, he was going to have to play it by ear. Keep things calm, casual. When the waitress came over, instead of looking up and smiling at her, Randy just kept staring down at the table, playing with the corner of the menu. Sam turned on the charm; dressed as they were, it wouldn't take much for the waitress to kick them out. He ordered for both of them, after making a show of pulling out his wallet and 'checking' his money. Let the waitress know ahead of time they could pay for the meal. He could see her relax.  
  
"Randy?" trying to get his attention after the waitress left. He was ignored. "Randy, really, it's okay. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that. It could happen to anyone." He knew that wasn't true, and he had a feeling Randy knew it, too. He knew Randy hadn't forgotten Nam. He wasn't sure what else about that he'd been allowed to retain. He had to get in touch those doctors. Soon. He had to know some things about Randy's early 'training'. Wanted badly to hear from them that this outburst wasn't really unexpected, even though he knew it shouldn't have happened.  
  
The food came. He was starving. The last weeks, he'd been eating like Randy, like the homeless, ate. He would've loved to have sneaked off during the night, found an all-night diner and gorged himself, but he wouldn't do that. He had to stay in his character, no matter what, for this to work. And it wouldn't have been fair to Randy. So he dove into the cheeseburger and fries, expecting Randy to do the same. It bothered him when Randy continued to just sit there. He noticed him glancing over at him occasionally. He stopped eating, waited for the next time and then smiled encouragingly at him. Randy just looked back down. Okay, got to put a stop to this.  
  
"Randy."  
  
His friend kept staring down.  
  
"Randy, just forget it, okay? We don't have to talk about it right now. Later. I'm not mad, Randy. Just surprised. Now, eat your burger, okay? We don't get to eat like this very often, y'know?" Sam got a shock then almost as bad as the attack. Randy looked up at him and glared. Randy was angry. Angry? What the hell was going on?  
  
"Randy?"  
  
Randy suddenly bolted out of the booth. "You're not my friend any more, Sam! I know what you're trying to do and it won't work. It won't!" He practically ran out of the cafe.  
  
Sam immediately jumped up and started to follow.  
  
"Hey!" The waitress was hurrying over. Damn. He pulled his wallet and threw down a handful of bills before rushing after Randy. Out on the street, he looked in every direction, but Randy was gone.  
  
*****  
  
The team, along with two Ables and Stockwell's hand-picked pilot, had taken off for South America. No sooner had the plane disappeared in the horizon than Carla grabbed her own bag and headed for Dulles. Her ticket was for LAX; she would rent a car there and head for Bad Rock.  
  
She would have to be on her toes. She had no doubt Stockwell would have her followed. It had nothing to do with loyalty, or the questioning of it. It was simply Stockwell's way of doing things. He would not be surprised at her attempting to lose the tail, either. He knew Carla well enough to know that she would not want him to know anything until she was ready to tell him. It was a cat and mouse game they played often and well. Carla got the impression that he actually enjoyed her flouting him - to a point. Her predecssor, now working for a high-level government official, had warned her that Stockwell had strange ideas of how to groom people for success in his organization. The skill was in knowing when the leash was stretched far enough, and not running any further. So far she hadn't pulled too hard on it. She had a feeling that was going to change.  
  
The flight was uneventful. She signed for her rental and hit the freeway, heading toward downtown LA. She would swing by the homes and businesses of a few of the people the team had connections with - an old client here and there, the orphanage where Peck grew up, the VA. She didn't want her tail to have any clue where she was really going or who she was really going to see. The guy was good, whoever it was. She ran a few of their LA people through her head, idly trying to think just who Stockwell would have chosen. Eventually she decided she'd run the man around long enough, and proceeded to lose him. It took almost forty minutes to do it, but then she was free to continue on.  
  
She figured she would reach Bad Rock just before suppertime...  
  
*****  
  
By the time the plane landed at its destination, Hannibal had a plan ready for getting away from their escorts. They would take care of their business for Stockwell first; he figured that would only take two to three days. Then they would put the plan into action.  
  
The plan for Stockwell's job was basic. Someone in the customs office was selling forged papers, allowing contraband to be shipped into the US without close inspection. Hannibal would pose as a collector of artifacts, stolen from native burial grounds. Frankie would be his assistant, BA his bodyguard. Stockwell's contact would put Frankie in touch with the person they suspected, and he would convince the guy to 'take care' Hannibal. Once the forged documents were in Hannibal's possession, they and the bad guy would be turned over to the authorities.  
  
Piece of cake. Like that happened any more.  
  
Hannibal was nervous about the job. He never thought he would be, but he was always nervous when Frankie played a major role. Not that the kid was a lousy conman - he just wasn't very good. No matter how hard he tried, there was always that 'something' missing. Murdock had watched him and knew immediately what was happening. Or rather, not happening. He'd tried to explain it to Frankie and Hannibal, in an unsuccessful attempt to correct the problem.  
  
"Frankie doesn't believe he's the guy he's supposed to be. He thinks and acts like Frankie pretending to be somebody else."  
  
Frankie just looked at him, blankly. "Well, of course I think like me, Murdock. I am me!"  
  
"No, no, no, Frankie. Not when you're pulling a scam, you're not. You have to BE the guy. You have to think and act like the guy you're supposed to be."  
  
Frankie just didn't get it. He tried, he really did. But he just never quite got it.  
  
Hannibal sighed. He'd had to pull Frankie's fat out of the fire more times than he cared to think about. Simple jobs became complicated because...oh, hell, because Face wasn't there smoothing things out for the rest of them. Without the conman, everything had to be done the hard way. Not that they couldn't pull things off; it was just a lot harder to come out unscathed. Frankly, with that constant worry about Frankie's performance, or Frankie getting hurt, or Frankie getting some one else hurt - well, it was damn hard to find the Jazz any more. Hannibal didn't have to remind himself that it wasn't just Frankie at fault for that...


	8. Chapter 8

Randy had no idea where he was going. He just knew he had to get away from Sam. Before Sam could do something to him. So he just kept walking. Not running. No, mustn't run. Running draws attention. Didn't want any attention. Just disappear. So walk. Fast. But walk. Stay with the crowd. Blend in. Move with the crowd.  
  
He took several corners, watching his surroundings so he wouldn't end up backtracking. No walking in endless circles for him. No, he was rapidly moving away from the cafe, away from Sam. He didn't even think about it. He put his brain on auto-pilot, let it take him where it would. Like the anger, he didn't know where the instincts were coming from, but he just knew when he should check behind him, how to check without seeming to, knew how to watch for things that didn't seem like they belonged.  
  
How long he walked, he wasn't sure. He knew the sun was setting. And he was walking into the sunset. That was good. Something told him he needed to be going west. Something was out there for him. Something he needed. West. A long way. A very long way. Why, he didn't know. What was waiting for him there, he didn't know. He only knew he had to keep going. West.  
  
*****  
  
Maggie was just closing up the office when she heard a car pull up. Sighing tiredly, she wondered what kind of medical catastrophe was heading for her way this time. Opening the door, she was surprised to find a very business-like blond standing there. Smartly dressed, but definitely all business.  
  
"May I help you?"  
  
"Dr. Maggie Sullivan?"  
  
Something about the way this woman said that put Maggie's back up. "Yes, I'm Dr. Sullivan."  
  
Something resembling a smile flashed across the blonde's face. "My name is Carla. I work for a General Stockwell, and I believe you have something of his that you really shouldn't."  
  
Maggie was not one to panic easily, but she came close at that second. The coroner. He must have reported her request. John didn't trust this Stockwell; after finding out about the autopsy, neither did Maggie. But she needed to find out more, not the least of which was why? Stockwell hadn't sent muscle, just this woman. So maybe he wanted to negotiate at this point. Or maybe just find out what she intended to do. That made two of them.  
  
"I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about, but why don't you come in and we can discuss it further?" She smiled ingenuously.  
  
Carla looked at Maggie. A real cool one. Figures. Hannibal Smith wouldn't have chosen anyone less. She 'smiled' again. This was good. She could talk turkey with this one.  
  
*****  
  
Sam was beside himself. He had never, ever, screwed something up this badly. Well, he'd come close. But he'd managed to salvage those. Alright, with help. But this...how in hell was he going to find Randy by himself? He couldn't call for help; he knew these people too well. They would panic. They would call in the wrong kind of people. They would terminate the experiment, completely. They would get rid of all evidence. That would mean Randy.  
  
Sam would not do that. One way or the other, he had to find him. Thank God Belle Glade was a small town. They could have ended up in Miami. He pulled Randy's picture from his wallet. Started asking people around him if they had seen him. Started walking. Where would Randy go? What would he look for? A place to hide? Or would he just want to get away from Sam? What would Sam do if he was angry, scared, and confused? He'd want to go someplace safe. Away from the danger. Think, Sam. Where would Randy go if he wanted safety above all else?  
  
Sam stopped. Looked around. Yeh. He knew. He knew Randy as well as he knew himself. Randy was acting on instinct now. And Sam knew where instinct would take him. Sam started walking toward the sunset.  
  
*****  
  
Stockwell's contact met them at the private airfield. In a limo, no less. Well, that was in keeping with the plan. Any wandering eyes would see a wealthy, eccentric American and his entourage being met with all due homage to his money and power. On the way to the hotel, Farrington - god, what a name - filled them in on everything they knew about the forgeries and the parties involved. Hannibal saw Murdock kick Frankie surreptitiously so he would pay close attention. The kid kept thinking these briefings were for solely for Hannibal's benefit and that the Colonel would just tell him what to do later. God. How could someone be such a genius with special effects and otherwise be so...dumb?  
  
Hannibal sighed. He liked Frankie on the set. He was young, brash, loud, but Hannibal liked him. He was enthusiastic. But if Hannibal was really in charge of this team, Frankie would've been gone in a heartbeat. He was a risk for the team that Hannibal would not have tolerated any other time. Now, he had to babysit. So did BA and Murdock and none of them liked it.  
  
And whose fault is that, Smith? That was the only reason Hannibal kept his temper with the kid. He hadn't done what he should have from the start. He should have gotten Frankie some basic training immediately. He should have decided what role Frankie would play and made sure he was ready for it. The problem was he hadn't been thinking clearly back then. None of them had. Plus he'd had Stockwell to deal with, and the General had immediately started sending them out on missions. Damn.  
  
Well, that would have to change. They would finish this job, and then they would start training. He would tell Stockwell there would be no missions for at least a month. Between the three of them, they could whip Frankie into shape in that time. So he could be a real team player.  
  
And it would give them time to get the facts. The truth. And put Face to rest, once and for all.


	9. Chapter 9

Neither woman had said much. Maggie led Carla away from her office (and the autopsy report) and into the kitchen. She thought about the living room but opted out of that. She wanted the upper hand, and no woman felt less in charge than when in another woman's kitchen. Business attire or not.  
  
They got through the preliminaries - coffee for both, black for Carla, cream and sugar for Maggie. She didn't offer anything to eat with it. Polite, but cool. They sat at the table, Carla, pressed and polished, Maggie, rumpled but professional.  
  
"Now, you were saying I had something I shouldn't have? I'm not sure I know what you mean."  
  
"A report from the coroner in Langley. That wasn't for public access. The doctor there made a mistake. I'm here to correct that."  
  
"I am a doctor, Ms...?" Carla didn't respond to that. Very well. "And I wasn't aware that public records were not public. And certainly not to the decedent's doctor of record."  
  
"Hardly something you'd want broadcast, Doctor, considering he was a fugitive."  
  
"Medical ethics, Carla. Regardless of the legal status, I'm bound by my oath to attend to the sick and injured."  
  
"And legally bound to report it."  
  
"The local authorities were notified." Not formally, of course, but the technicalities were taken care of.  
  
"Hmm." Carla would have to do some checking on the 'local authorities'. "Nevertheless, these documents were not supposed to be circulated."  
  
"I can understand that. It would be awkward."  
  
Carla looked directly at Maggie. The pussyfooting around was coming to an end.  
  
"Awkward, Doctor?"  
  
"Well, considering that the autopsy was done on the wrong man." Carla continued calmly looking at her. "I also received photographs. The man your doctor autopsied was not Templeton Peck, regardless of what he thought."  
  
"Who was it, then?"  
  
"No idea. I'm sure someone in your organization does know, but it's irrelevant to me."  
  
"What is relevant to you, Doctor?" Now they were getting down to the nitty-gritty.  
  
"What really happened to the lieutenant. That's what I want to know, mostly. And then, of course, why?"  
  
"You intend to pursue the matter?"  
  
Dangerous ground, now. Maggie had to watch her step.  
  
"I don't know. Maybe it's just idle curiosity. He was a patient of mine; I like to keep my records complete."  
  
"Hmm." Carla didn't believe her, of course. She recognized the intelligence there - knew Maggie was playing it this way until she knew what Stockwell intended to do. Time to lay the cards on the table.  
  
"What would you say if I could help you find out, exactly, what happened to the lieutenant?"  
  
The two women scrutinized each other. Neither trusted the other, each needed the other.  
  
"Why would you do that?"  
  
"I have my reasons. Nothing to do with you, or the lieutenant. This is strictly a means to an end."  
  
"How humanitarian."  
  
"You haven't answered my question, Doctor. How badly do you want the answers to your questions? Because they won't come gratis."  
  
Maggie thought about the letter which had opened this whole Pandora's box. It had been more open, more emotional, than she had ever witnessed from the writer in person. She would do almost anything.  
  
"Let's hear it."  
  
*****  
  
Randy had been walking for hours. He was tired, hungry and thirsty but he kept walking. He’d ceased thinking long ago. Wasn’t watching where he was, what was behind him, even what was around him. He’d followed the sun until it had disappeared below the horizon, and still he kept walking. He paid no attention to his burning feet, or aching legs. He had only one thought - keep walking.  
  
Although his direction was predominately west, he'd stuck to the streets and highways, not gone cross country. He had looked over the land, seen the sign for Lake Okeechobee, and known there would be swamp and marsh and probably he wouldn't make it through. So he took the long way around, using the sidewalk until that ran out, then walking along the shoulder of the highway. He knew this was dangerous, that Sam could more easily find him this way, but overriding everything was his need to get to his destination, somewhere to the west.  
  
He paid no attention to the pickup truck as it drove past, heading the opposite direction. Never heard it slow, nor noticed it making a slow, careful u-turn. Oblivious to the sudden surge in speed as it roared down on him. It swept by, horn blaring, loud raucous curses and laughter ringing out. The oversized mirror on the passenger side caught him, and he was bounced off into the ditch, stunned. His arm and shoulder burned in pain, and his head felt as if it were exploding.  
  
He lay where he had fallen, dizzy and sick to his stomach. He stared at the long grass in front of his face, and felt the dampness seeping into his clothes, and his mind was racing, bouncing from this to that and back again. He had no idea where he was, what he was doing there.  
  
'Sam...?'  
  
*****  
  
Frankie was tired. Johnnie had kept him at him for hours, rehearsing. And when he was done, Murdock took over. Man, what was with these guys? Okay, so he wasn't the greatest actor in the world. He worked behind the scenes. Always. Now all of a sudden he was expected to be another Olivier. No, that wasn't true.  
  
He was expected to be another Face.  
  
That's all they wanted. Him to take over where Face had been. Well, that was logical. He was good looking enough. Charm up the wazoo, when he wanted to show it. He had everything that Face had, except the ability to lie and make people believe him. He just wasn't the kind of person who could do that. No disrespect to the dead, but he could not for the life of him understand what was so great about being an accomplished liar. Or why Johnnie and the rest of them would think being good at cheating people was something to be proud of.  
  
Of course, he never said anything like that around them. Geez, he wasn't dumb. And he felt bad that he was dead. Real bad. Especially for the part he'd played in it. But that wasn't his fault. No way. And he really hated that Murdock had taken it out on him. He'd just supplied the damn pills. It wasn't his fault the guy had some heart thing.  
  
And now they expected him to just waltz in and take over for Face. Like this new mission Stockwell had them on. Johnnie was the damn actor; why couldn't he set up the meeting with the bad guys? Frankie could be the young, sophisticated collector, let Hannibal be the older, nearing-retirement assistant. Why wouldn't that work just as well? Yeh, and Frankie could just sit back, too important to talk to these guys, let the assistant handle the details. Sure, that would work. But Frankie knew he'd never convince the guys to do it that way. No, that would be too easy.  
  
Frankie heard a knock at the door.  
  
"Showtime, Frankie." Murdock practically sang it.  
  
Great. Just great...  
  
*****  
  
Sam had run out of patience. He was close to running out of time. He knew Randy had taken his meds when they were on the bus; Sam had given them to him himself. Sam still had them. Normally Randy kept them in his stash, but Sam was afraid they'd get lost during the trip and subsequent search for a place to stay, so he'd kept them with his stuff. Even if Randy had the presence of mind to remember in the morning, he had nothing to take. And that would be bad. Real bad.  
  
Sam had stopped damn near everyone on the street. Hell, it wasn't that busy, someone had to have seen him. But no one had. At least, they hadn't paid any attention to him. Who would? A man, obviously homeless, wandering around. Not like it was unusual, these days. Even in a town like this one. He'd seen four or five himself. And checked out each and every one of them. Not that he thought they were Randy; he just hoped Randy might have talked with them, asking about the locals, where to hang out, something. Nada. Zip.  
  
Damn.  
  
Finally, as it got later in the night, Sam had 'borrowed' a car. He didn't know if his initial theory about heading west was off-base or not, but he had to have faster mobility. He'd keep going west, along the highway, cut back toward town to continue the search if he hadn't found him within a few miles. He'd been gone over five hours now; if he'd kept walking continually, he'd be maybe 15 miles out. At most. He didn't know if Randy could walk that long without stopping, but Sam would figure that to be his boundaries. He just hoped to God he hadn't gone cross country.  
  
*****  
  
Randy could hear voices. Above him. Around him. Smelled...pot? Yeh. And beer. His stomach, still queasy, fluttered ominously.  
  
"Help..." he could barely talk. His throat and mouth had no moisture in them at all.  
  
"Hey, airhead's talking, man." He felt someone come close, warm acrid beer breath on his face. "Wassa matta, barf bag? Not feelin so good?" The breath moved away. The next second he felt a boot crash into his stomach. Everything came up.  
  
"Geez, man, what a loser!"  
  
"Christ, he got my boots, man! My fuckin boots!"  
  
Randy's vision blurred, disappeared, as those boots came crashing in on him.


	10. Chapter 10

He woke with a start. Looked quickly around him, taking in his surroundings. A room. Plain. Serviceable. Nothing fancy at all. Just another motel room. He felt claustrophobic. Months he'd spent living in a box practically no bigger than a barrel, and now he felt claustrophobic. He pulled himself out of bed, headed immediately for the shower. Get clean. Get dressed. Get out.  
  
Stepping out of the door, he took a quick glance around. No one out and about this early. Good. The fewer people who saw him, the better. He needed to find a phone. The one in the motel room was out. That would leave a trail. Never leave a trail. Especially not now.  
  
It only took a few minutes to find a public phone. He called the first number. Belle Glade General Hospital. Talked to admitting. No one matching the description there. Okay. That was good. Well, not good. But good. Damn it, calm down. Call the next number. McKendrick Regional Medical Center, in Clewiston. Seventeen miles but it was the next closest. Spoke to their admitting clerk.  
  
Oh, God.  
  
*****  
  
Carla watched out of the window, gazing at the clouds below the wing. It had been easier, and yet harder, to work with the doctor than she had imagined. Eventually, they had reached an agreement. Sullivan didn't like it, but she knew - and knew Carla knew - that it had to be done Carla's way or no way. Carla could have told her the whole story and let her inform Smith. It would have damaged Stockwell but in a limited way. No, Carla's way was best. It would, eventually, answer all of Sullivan's, and Smith's, questions. It would, eventually, take care of Stockwell. But doing it her way, instead of the doctor's, would also take care of the others. This Dr. Barish. His, or her, co-horts.  
  
Carla was not a moralist. She didn't look at her actions, or the actions of others, from a morality point of view. She was a pragmatist. She thought in terms of the long run. Would this action, that word, bring benefit or disaster in the long run? And that was not regarding other people, or the organization, or the country, or the world. Would it bring benefit or disaster to Carla? That was the overriding concern. Selfish? Perhaps. Practical? Of course.  
  
This tryst that Stockwell had formed with those other people - it would not benefit Carla for that to continue. She knew it from the beginning. Witnessed it when she'd had to force Stockwell to include her in the loop. Any alliances the General formed had to include her. If they didn't, they could not be allowed to be successful. Smith had given her the ways and means to destroy this one. If it destroyed Stockwell at the same time...well, he shouldn't have shut her out.  
  
*****  
  
Frankie was feeling very pleased with himself. He had pulled off the scam with flying colors, if he did say so himself. Even Johnnie seemed pleased with his report of events. Okay, so he wasn't too happy that the meeting place had been changed. Small detail. They were supposed to meet at the airfield, the hangar where the plane was stored. Instead, they were meeting at an abandoned office complex, maybe five miles from there. They had plenty of time to sneak in and get set up there. And okay, so the guy wanted cash, American dollars, instead of the percentage of the 'sale'. Stockwell was already working on that part. No big deal for Stockwell.  
  
Frankie sighed. Okay, so two little things didn't go the way they were supposed to and everybody was on his case about it. And it was there again. Face wouldn't have screwed it up. Face would have wormed his way out of the demands. Face would have made it work the way it was supposed to. They didn't have to say it. BA had listened, and then walked out, throwing the television controller against the wall. Murdock had looked at Frankie, opened his mouth to say something and then just stopped and walked into his room.  
  
And Johnnie, even though he let Frankie have it with both barrels, going on and on about what they'd rehearsed, how he was to counter any demands other than what they'd planned - even Johnnie hadn't voiced that name. But it had been there at the end, in his eyes. After he'd taken a breath, and apologized for yelling, that he knew Frankie had done the best he could. His mouth was apologizing, but there was pain and regret in his eyes. And then he'd just turned and walked away from Frankie. Turned his back on him, not waiting for him to say anything more in his defense. His friend, Johnnie, had walked out just like the other two had.  
  
Frankie was really beginning to dislike the dead man. Childish as that was...  
  
*****  
  
Maggie was checking over her schedule for the day. She read it over and over, never quite taking the information into her head. It was filled with everything Carla had said the day before. She hadn't liked the woman, nor what she had to say. Even less her plan of action.  
  
Maggie knew John - or perhaps one of the others - would be contacting her, wanting to know what she had found out. And she would not be able to tell them. Not all of it, at any rate. She could only tell him that the autopsy she'd received was for the wrong man. That she was still trying to find out what had happened to Face. Neither statement a lie, but not quite the truth, either. Whether she could keep to just those facts, with John peppering her with questions, she didn't know. No, she had to. She had gotten the distinct impression - deliberate, she was sure - that Face was alive, somewhere. And that she had to do whatever Carla told her to, if he was to stay that way.  
  
She slammed her appointment book closed with frustration. High intrigue was not her cup of tea. But Carla had dragged her into it. Refusing to give her more than tidbits of information. She would tell Maggie what she needed to know, as she needed to know it, so Maggie could in turn feed it to John. For some reason, Carla wanted to destroy the fragile relationship between the team and this Stockwell, but she wanted to do it slowly. Maggie knew there were other people involved, that this would affect them as well, which must be the reason for stringing it out.  
  
"Oh, Sullivan, what the hell have you gotten yourself into now?"  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal was briefing the two Ables. He never thought he'd be working with Stockwell's men instead of trying to outwit them, but Frankie had left him no choice. Damn. At the airfield, they would have had the 'home team advantage'. Now they'd be walking into an unknown. Murdock had already done a quick surveillance of the office building but hadn't been able to get too close. There were several 'construction workers' there, obviously Corvino's men. Murdock said they spent a lot of time moving things around, but doing little real work.  
  
The two Ables were less than enthusiastic about Hannibal's plan, particularly their part in it. The one reminded Smith that they were supposed to just observe.  
  
"Ok, pal, you can 'observe' us getting the hell shot out of us. Think Stockwell will appreciate that?"  
  
Seeing there would be no more objections, he outlined the rest of his plan. The two Ables, along with Murdock, would station themselves close to the building, out of sight but close enough to move in quickly if needed. Hannibal, Frankie, and BA would go to the actual meeting. Hannibal was a little concerned about BA. As Hannibal's bodyguard, he would be the first that Corvino would try to neutralize. BA wasn't concerned.  
  
"They jus bad guys, Hannibal, jus like always. Frankie screwed up, but not that bad." He'd paused, added softly, "It ain't gonna be another Face. Got it?"  
  
As always, BA had hit the nail on the head. Hannibal's constant worry. That each mission, if not done just right, would mean another loss to the team. His confidence, like the jazz, had never come back like it had been. He hadn't realized it was noticeable.  
  
BA had looked at him hard. "You git your act together and keep it together. You look at your plan, Colonel. And then you think o' what Face would say 'bout it. You listen to him, jus like always. You listen, he'll tell ya. And then we go do it. Jus like always."  
  
BA had stalked out then. And Hannibal could have sworn the big man's eyes were as bright as his own.  
  
*****  
  
Sam had taken a cab to Clewiston. Several blocks from the hospital. Walked the opposite direction until the cab turned out of sight. Immediately went around the block and headed for McKendrick Regional.  
  
He hadn't called this in yet. He knew he was sticking his head in a noose, putting it off. But until he could talk to the doctors and see Randy, he was not about to try and answer a bunch of questions. And they would be tough questions. Unless Sam could convince them that it had been a run of the mill run-in, much like at the halfway house, there would be big problems. For both of them.  
  
He sat in the waiting room, tense. One of the hospital security people had spoken with him first, letting him know that the local authorities would be coming over to discuss it with him. Sam had been somewhat surprised. Most cops could care less if some local yokel beat up on the homeless. Admittedly, it was mainly because most homeless victims would disappear into the woodwork before the cops could really do anything. So he sat and waited for both the doctor and the police. Not looking forward to either.  
  
The police arrived first. Wanted to know who Randy was, since he had no identification on him. Sam gave them a fictitious last name. Leave no trails. The detective huffed a little. Said they had taken Randy's fingerprints but were still waiting for a response. Damn damn damn. This guy was on the ball - that was bad. More imperative to talk with the doctor, find out how soon Randy could be moved, then get on the phone. That fingerprint trace had to be stopped, delayed, misdirected somehow.  
  
It was a simple story Sam told the detective. He and Randy had arrived in Belle Glade, gotten separated, and Randy had wandered off. Sam implied that Randy's elevator didn't quite reach the top floor, and the cops seemed ready enough to accept that. Probably figured most homeless people were like that. They wanted to wait around, see if Randy was up to questioning. Sam agreed, seething inside. Why were these guys so interested in Randy, anyway? As if he'd asked the questions out loud, the head guy spoke up.  
  
"This isn't the first beating like this around here. Last few months there've been five others - all homeless guys, all beat to hell. We want to catch whoever's doing it before it escalates." Escalates - meaning before some tourist gets hit. Okay. Understood now.  
  
The doctor arrived just then, and Sam listened as he listed the injuries Randy had sustained. Dislocated shoulder, severe concussion, broken ribs, internal bruising. They wanted to keep him for a few days to keep an eye out for hidden damage. Should probably do surgery to see exactly what was going on inside, but as long as he was stable they didn't want to do that unnecessarily. For the patient's sake. Right.  
  
They let Sam in to see him for a few minutes. He stood just inside the door, looking at the doctor until he took the hint and left them alone. Only then did Sam move over to the bed and look at his friend. It had been a long time since he'd seen something that bad. He could feel the anger, no, the rage building in him. Someone had done this for fun. For kicks. Sick bastards.  
  
He leaned over Randy, spoke directly into his ear.  
  
"Don't worry, Randy. You're going to be okay. I'm here now. We'll get you out of here soon, and find someplace safe. Okay? So just rest. Get better. I'll be back later."  
  
Randy didn't show any signs of hearing him, but Sam figured he had. Now he had to go make that phone call. And keep his fingers crossed.  
  
*****  
  
Randy heard the voice. Sam. Sam was with him again. Good. Sam would take care of things now. He would take care of him. He wouldn't get hit again.  
  
With a sigh, he thought back to the dream he'd had. It was so real. He wished it were real. That would be nice. A house. A real house, not just a box under the overpass. And clothes. Man, the clothes in that dream were out of this world. And food. Fancy stuff. Gourmet. Made his mouth water just thinking about it. He knew what it tasted like, sorta. Sometimes he'd find the same stuff behind the restaurants.  
  
But something bothered him about the dream. The people in it. They were so real. So real it was like they had to exist somewhere, like he must have known them. Somehow. But he knew he'd never met them. He had no names to put to the faces he saw. But there was warmth, with them. In the dream, they were his friends. The kind you didn't have to hide your stash from. Best friends.  
  
He wished it were real.


	11. Chapter 11

"I admit, I screwed up there, Doctor. I was looking in the phone book for the VA and he wandered off...No, he's going to be okay, just a couple days in the hospital for observation...No, there's absolutely no reason for that. He'll be able to continue with the program... And the fingerprints?...Good...  
  
"I did want to ask you, Doctor," - tread lightly here - "...he didn't try to defend himself, this time or at the half-way house...well, shouldn't he be able to...no, I wasn't implying...no, I understand....no...no, doctor, I just didn't know what he may have retained from his military training...I understand that, Doctor. I would definitely let you know if he did...No, there would be no problem with that. The possibility of termination was made very clear... I understand that, Doctor.  
  
"Now, about the pills. I'd like to go with a 30 day supply...Under other circumstances, I wouldn't consider it, either. But having to constantly look for a facility...no, it's just having to try and steer him in that direction...well, if I hadn't had to find one so quickly it wouldn't have happened, you know...no, not an excuse but you have to agree that...very well, doctor...you'll set up the 30 day thing, then?...Good. Good-bye, Dr. Barish."  
  
Sam visibly relaxed as he hung up the phone. So he'd gotten his ass chewed, but not as badly as he'd expected. That wasn't what had him tensed up. It had been asking about Randy's potential for violence. It was dangerous but necessary. Now Sam's suspicions were confirmed. Randy should not have lost it that day. He should have been conditioned to avoid violence at all costs.  
  
Sam hadn't wanted Barish thinking about Randy after that. Sam knew if he moved the conversation away from the beating to the medications, the good doctor would get sidetracked to the experiment itself and forget about Randy. He was actually surprised that Barish had gone along with handing out 30 days worth of pills. It was a definite change in the protocol. Guess he was a better conman than he'd realized.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal watched as Murdock and the two Ables checked out their communications with BA. It was at least the third time BA had made them check the equipment. So much for his words of encouragement. They were all feeling the same way. Edgy. Well, Hannibal was taking BA's words to heart. His men couldn't feel confident if he didn't. He'd gone over the plan, thought about it from Face's point of view. He could do that, if he worked at it. Kinda like a mother trying to look at her kid objectively. But he knew the way Face thought very well. Like a cautious Hannibal.  
  
He had a pretty good idea of everything that could go wrong. And, not knowing how much of Frankie's account of things was on the level, knew that they would have to go into it thinking Corvino had figured out it was a trap. Which meant they were giving themselves up as bait. They would have to get Corvino to admit what he was doing, get it on tape, and then hope that Murdock and the Ables would be able to get in undetected and find them before they were mincemeat. Might not be too healthy, but it could be done.  
  
He sat down with a cigar, waiting.  
  
*****  
  
Sam still had to get this morning's dose to Randy, before anything else happened. Barish would take care of the rest. The attending physician's signature would appear on the new orders for a certain medication, which would suddenly appear in the drug supply cabinet. Once Randy was released, it would all go away again.  
  
He made a stop in the men's room, and carefully shook the pill from Randy's bottle. It shouldn't be too difficult to slip it to him. He wondered about the other stuff these doctors had him on, but supposedly Barish would have known if there would be any adverse interaction. He hoped. That would be all he needed.  
  
Randy was awake now, although still rather dopey from the pain medications. He looked up when Sam came in, smiled weakly at him. When Sam opened his hand to show him the pill, Randy suddenly looked scared. Not again...  
  
"What's the matter, Randy? It's just your pill. You remember. You have to take one every day, so you don't get sick."  
  
"I know, but..." For a moment Sam thought Randy was actually going to cry. Sam softened his voice.  
  
"But what?"  
  
Randy looked decidedly guilty. "I dropped it." A mere whisper.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I dropped it. Before we got off the bus. You gave it to me and I dropped it. I couldn't find it again." Randy looked up, pleading. "Please don't be mad, Sam. I didn't mean to..."  
  
God. So that's what happened. That's why Randy had gone off the deep end. Shit.  
  
"Hey, Randy, don't worry about it, okay? But promise me, if it happens again, you'll tell me right away, okay? Don't be afraid to tell me. It's more important that we take care of you. So you don't get sick."  
  
Randy swallowed, nodded. God, the man could be so pathetic sometimes. Sam found himself wondering again about this whole damn scheme. To take a man like Randy had been, and turn him into this...damn.  
  
And what did that say about Sam?  
  
*****  
  
"Did you find out what you needed to, Carla?"  
  
Stockwell looked at her, impassive. Carla knew his mind was working at top speed, readying decisions based on what she could - would - tell him.  
  
"For the most part, yes, General. As far as I could tell, the rumors were just that - rumors. There's still a small chance, but nothing beyond what we were already prepared for. The people I talked with, the most likely for the team to contact, all believed what they saw in the papers, that the team had been executed. I would have to say that these rumors were born of Smith playing his games again. Nothing more."  
  
Stockwell raised an eyebrow. "You're quite sure of that, Carla? Perhaps we should be keeping an eye on things for a bit longer."  
  
Don't give anything away. "If you like, General. Certainly it wouldn't hurt anything, but it would mean taking people away from other projects. My personal opinion? Unnecessary. Unless we find something later, which I doubt is going to happen, I don't think security has, in reality, been breeched."  
  
"Hmmm." Stockwell sat still for a few more moments, eyes still on Carla. She was used to that. Basically ignored it. If she paid attention when he did that, she would have no secrets left. She became a piece of furniture he was staring at.  
  
Sitting up his chair, Stockwell pulled a pile of papers toward him. "Very well. We'll consider the matter closed for now. We'll alert the Ables already on duty so they can be a little more on their toes, but that should be sufficient. That's all, Carla."  
  
"Yes, General." She turned and left his office, not allowing the smile inside to show.


	12. Chapter 12

Hannibal was watching Corvino. So far, things had gone the way he had expected them to. Which meant badly.  
  
Hannibal had walked into the room after BA, followed by Frankie. He looked over at three men standing on the far side of the room. Assuming the middle guy was Corvino, he'd stepped forward to introduce himself.  
  
"Mr. Corvino? Ed Beas. Nice to meet ya."  
  
Corvino had not offered his hand in return. Instead he turned cold eyes on Frankie, then turned to Hannibal.  
  
"I'm sorry. Your assistant referred to you as Mr. Beas, but also as 'Johnnie'. Are you a brother, perhaps?"  
  
Shit.  
  
"No, no, Johnnie is just a nickname. One my assistant uses, though he knows how much I dislike it." Hannibal turned and glared at Frankie, who was looking suitably embarrassed.  
  
"I see. This sort of familiarity is common in the States?"  
  
"Well, I get a little too lax with my people. Something that’s definitely going to change..."  
  
Hannibal wasn’t sure Corvino was buying all this bullshit. In fact, he was sure he wasn’t. The two guys on either side of him had slowly, ever so casually moved to opposite sides of the room. Hannibal heard the door behind him open slowly and then close. He imagined at least one or two more men were now in the room.  
  
"So, Senor Corvino, shall we get down to business? I’m sure you’re just as busy as I am and I’d like to get this over with."  
  
"I, too, ‘Johnnie’, would like to finish this. But one question first."  
  
Hannibal knew he wasn’t going to like the question. "Sure."  
  
"Who exactly are you working for?"  
  
Shit.  
  
*****  
  
Sam was getting nervous. He didn’t want Randy in the hospital too long. One or two days, hopefully no longer than that. Every day he was in here the chances of the doctor seeing that addition to the orders grew. He didn’t want to have to explain those pills.  
  
He was concerned about Randy, too. Not just physically. Something was still bothering him. He was so transparent. And he was tense. Randy was never tense. A bit high-strung on occasion, but never tense. Sam had thought maybe it was a residual of the missed dose, but as the day wore on it just seemed to get worse.  
  
"Okay, Randy." The nurses and techs had finally gone, leaving them alone for the first time in hours. "Want to tell me what’s the matter?"  
  
Randy looked away from Sam, studying the sky outside the window. He really didn’t know if he could tell Sam or not. Sam might think he was nuts or something. But if he didn’t tell him, they wouldn’t do it, and he had to.  
  
"I want to leave, Sam. I want to go away from here."  
  
"Well, I can understand that, Randy. I wouldn’t want to stay where I’d gotten beat up, either. We can go somewhere else. Maybe somewhere right on the coast. Be beach bums for a while." Yeh, Sam could live that life with no problem.  
  
"No, that’s not what I meant. I meant, far away." He looked at Sam, and Sam could see confusion in his eyes, despite the determination in the voice. "What’s west of here, Sam?"  
  
"West of Florida? Practically the whole country, Randy. When you say far away, do you mean like, another state? Texas? Or Colorado?"  
  
"No. Farther than that." Where the ocean is. Yeh. That’s where it was, whatever it was. "I want to go to the ocean, Sam. All the way west, to the ocean."  
  
This was something different for Randy. He hadn't wanted to move to Florida; now he wanted to move clear across the country to the coast?  
  
"What made you decide that, Randy?"  
  
Ohhh, boy. Randy didn't want to tell Sam that he didn't know why, exactly. He just knew he had to go there. Maybe it had something to do with that dream. He could tell Sam about that.  
  
*****  
  
Frankie wasn't really clear on what all had happened after the scuzzbag asked Hannibal who they were working for. He knew guns came up, practically in his face, and he knew they didn't belong to the team. He knew Hannibal reached for a cigar, which didn't make Corvino real happy. And he knew the door came banging open with more guns pointing at everyone and everything. And then all hell broke loose.  
  
He did remember, clearly, BA shoving him to the floor. And bullets flying overhead. And plaster. Weird. He remembered plaster - not chunks flying, but floating in little dust particles all over. And then it was all over. The quiet like this huge thick blanket covering him. He looked around him, trying to figure out who won.  
  
One of the Ables was standing by the window, gun pointed down toward the floor, carefully checking for movement. Frankie's eyes caught his for only a moment, before the surveillance moved on. Frankie couldn't see the other Able at first, but then found him laying on the floor opposite his partner, carefully holding his arm, the sleeve turning slowly turning dark and shiny. BA was nearby, blood running freely from a wound on his forearm; Frankie couldn't tell how bad it was. BA, too, was carefully checking the people on the floor.  
  
Murdock and Hannibal stood together, Hannibal holding Corvino in a tight grip, the bad guy's arm twisted behind his back. Murdock was tying a bandana around Hannibal's head, stopping yet another blood flow. The colonel seemed steady on his feet, so his wound couldn't be that bad. Murdock appeared unscathed.  
  
Frankie's last look was at Corvino's men, scattered about the room. Two were groaning, three weren't making any sound at all. There seemed to be blood everywhere. The room stank with it.  
  
Frankie finally sat up completely. Taking one last glance around the room, and with Hannibal, Murdock, BA and the standing Able watching him, he threw up.  
  
*****  
  
"I had this dream. And there were people in it, Sam, people that were my friends, only I didn't know who they were. I just know they were my friends. And all the time I was walking..." he blushed a little at the thought of that day,"...I just kept thinking I had to keep going west. Toward the sunset. Do you think maybe it's because my friends are out there, Sam?"  
  
"Randy, it was a dream. You don't know anyone out there." This was not good. If Randy was having a dream like that, maybe his memory was starting to push forward. "Maybe it was just because you weren't feeling good, and I wasn't there."  
  
Randy sat silently for a few minutes. Sam knew he was thinking about that. It took Randy a long time, sometimes, to digest ideas, but once he'd thought them through, he had them solid.  
  
"No, I don't think that's it, Sam. I think it's because I belong to those people, the people in my dream. I mean, everybody belongs to someone, don't they? Friends, or family. But I don't belong to anyone, not here. So somewhere, I must belong to someone."  
  
"Don't I count, Randy? I'm your friend."  
  
"Oh, Sam, I'm sorry. Yes, you're my friend. And I'm your friend. So we belong to each other. But this is different." Randy frowned. He couldn't figure out how to say it right. "You and I belong to each other because we don't belong to anyone else. But we should. We should have like, parents, y'know? Everyone has parents. I don't remember mine. But I know I had to have them. You have parents, right, Sam?"  
  
"Sure. At least, I did." This was getting too deep for Sam. He didn't want to go into this, but he knew Randy would keep pushing anyway. "I don't know who they were, either." That's why we were both chosen for this thing. Because they thought we didn't have anyone. Not anyone who would care that much, anyway.  
  
"Don't you want to know, Sam? I do. I didn't, for a long time. When I woke up in the VA, up in Minneapolis, I didn't know who I was or anything. But it didn't bother me, 'cause I had you. But now I want to know. Everybody's somebody, Sam, except us. I want to be a somebody again. I want to belong somewhere. And there's this thing, up in my head, that keeps telling me I have to go west, to the ocean, and then I'll be a real person again, a somebody. And I'll find the people I belong to." Randy looked out of the window again. "If you don't want to go with me, that's okay. But I have to go."  
  
"You know I'll go with you, Randy. I just don't want you to be disappointed. I mean, what if we get all the way out there, and we don't find anyone? Then what?"  
  
"We'll find them. And I'll bet we'll find who you belong to, too, Sam. I think that's why we're together. Why we became friends. So we could help each other be somebody's again." Randy looked suddenly at Sam, and had an expression so serious it startled the other man. "Do you believe in God, Sam?"  
  
Where had that come from? Man, if Randy only knew what that question dredged up in Sam's mind. Never mind. Just answer him.  
  
"Yeh, I guess I do, Randy. I mean, I was brought up that way."  
  
"I never thought about Him much before, but I think God wants us to do this, Sam. I think that's why I had the dream. Yeh, I'm sure of it. God gave me that dream so I would know who I belonged to, and how to find them." Tired out from all the talking, Randy closed his eyes, and smiled. "I think I like God..."  
  
Sam sat still for a few minutes, watching Randy drift into sleep. It was strange how Randy put things. A somebody. A somebody who belonged to another somebody. Sam thought about that one long and hard. And wondered if he belonged to his someone's any more...


	13. Chapter 13

Sam was taking a long walk through Clewiston. He'd probably seen every inch of the town by now, but he kept walking. He had a lot of decisions to make. Hard decisions. No matter what he did, there would be serious repercussions. For Randy, for him. A good chance someone would get hurt. Killed, possibly. Almost probably...  
  
This wasn't a mission like he'd ever been on before. There were many times when he'd had to act on his own, but he'd always had backup. Always known someone would be there to pull his ass out of trouble if it happened. Always had people he could trust somewhere close by. Not this time. This time it was just him. His only backup was a group of people who would just as soon eliminate him if he crossed the line, if there were too many problems.  
  
And then there was Randy. God, when he'd first taken this on, he hadn't planned on actually liking the guy. And he hadn't really accepted the idea of termination. That had been an abstract; he hadn't allowed himself to believe it would actually come to that. Maybe things would have been better if he had. He could have planned things differently right from the start.  
  
Maybe it all would have come to this anyway.  
  
The ocean. Randy wanted to go the ocean. Well, Sam would get him there. What difference did it make, where they were? They could go up north, near San Francisco. That would be safe. Relatively safe, anyway. He knew he shouldn't go out there at all. Not really. Too many people knew him out there. Too many people would know he shouldn't be there. Shouldn't be, period. That was a long time ago, though. Seemed that way, anyway. They probably wouldn't believe it if they did see him. Yeh. People believed what they wanted to believe, what fit in with their reality. All you had to do was go along with that reality and you could convince them of almost anything.  
  
It would be okay. They'd just steer clear of LA.  
  
*****  
  
Well, it hadn't gone exactly to plan, but at least now they were in a position to do what needed to be done. BA, Hannibal and the one Able were in the hospital. The doctors were insisting that Hannibal stay overnight, even though the head wound wasn't serious. BA had required surgery to repair some muscle damage, but he would be okay to go in another couple of days. Murdock hadn't checked on the Able. Cold-hearted, possibly, but that was Stockwell's problem. Frankie was here at the hotel, with orders from Hannibal to keep his ass there. Period.  
  
That left the second Able watching Murdock and Frankie. They had had some hope that BA or Hannibal would be able to contact Maggie from the hospital, but BA was still out from the surgery, and, with typical Machiavellian forethought, Stockwell had Hannibal in the same room as the wounded Able. So it was up to Murdock and Frankie. Well, this time Frankie would do exactly what he was supposed to. Exactly.  
  
Mainly because Murdock didn't tell him what was planned....  
  
The Able, whom Murdock had christened 'Barney Fife', was stationed in the main room of the suite, where he could keep an eye on the door. Since they were on the 7th floor, it was effective coverage. When they had gotten back from the hospital, they had all taken showers and cleaned up. That's when Barney had dropped all pretense of 'observing' the team. Once Murdock and Frankie were finished, he'd handcuffed them, Murdock with one hand each to the handles of the refrigerator and a nearby cupboard door, Frankie to the bolted down TV stand. Once he'd completed a leisurely shower and dressed, he released them.  
  
Okay, so maybe Murdock shouldn't have called him Barney to his face...  
  
*****  
  
Carla read the latest report with concern. She didn't care so much about the injuries; those were just part of life. She was concerned more about the new medication order. They should be kept on a much shorter leash than that. Peck was too unpredictable, too independent. He'd already proved that when the two had gotten separated. She wished Dr. Barish had consulted with them before issuing the orders. But Dr. Barish didn't consult with Stockwell's organization. The reports were simply a part of the agreement between the two organizations.  
  
The other report was less stressful. Corvino and his people were under wraps now, injuries sustained by Stockwell's people well within reason. The pilot and the kid were under Able 15's capable watch at the hotel, the others safely in tow at the hospital. They would be able to bring them back in two to three days. Stockwell was satisfied. Carla could only hope Smith had one of his ridiculous plans in place. It was high time he contacted Dr. Sullivan.  
  
She sat back, staring at the wall. Nothing she could do about the team. She wasn't all that worried about Smith finding a way of getting to Sullivan; it was more concern about the timing. Especially with Peck now effectively out of reach.  
  
Well, maybe not. She knew they would be stuck in Florida for at least another couple of days. Dr. Barish may feel confident that things were under control; that didn't mean Carla had to sit back and wait for trouble. The only problem would be keeping Stockwell from knowing what she intended to do with a couple of his Ables. Shouldn't be a problem. He couldn't keep track of all of them.  
  
*****  
  
Sam moved quietly through the hospital hallways. The staff were used to seeing him now, paid no attention. He had thought things through, knew what he had to do. After that talk with Randy, and the deep soul-searching it had produced, he knew it was time to pull out. He just couldn't do this any more. He knew the experiment had a good purpose, but he could no longer blind himself to the means it employed. There would be other ways to achieve the same goal. He just couldn't be part of this any more. It meant, however, that he would be totally responsible for whatever happened from now on. Responsible for whatever happened to Randy. Good or bad.  
  
It also meant getting Randy back to himself, if that was at all possible after all this time. He had no idea where to start. After that incident in Belle Glade, he knew he couldn't just take Randy off the pills. That explosion had shown how much his stability depended on them. Not something to be trifled with while they were on the road. No, he couldn't do anything about Randy until they were settled somewhere.  
  
As to his own future, he didn't even think about it. That could wait. It had never been something he'd thought a lot about, anyway. Once in a while, when he was feeling worn down, or just depressed, he'd think about how things could have been. But it really wasn't productive. So he'd wallow in self-pity for a while, bemoaning the fates that had put him where he didn't want to be, and then shove it away and move on with whatever happened along. It hadn't been a bad existence, after all. He wouldn't trade the friends he had for anything. Well, until this.  
  
If he had had any choice in the matter, he might've said no. But you didn't say no under the circumstances. And then, of course, they'd appealed to his better nature, if he had one. He hadn't known Randy from Adam, but when they had explained what they were going to do, and the part he would play in it, protecting and teaching a man who would be totally clueless about the new life he was being thrust into, a fellow vet...well, they hit the mark. Dead on. His only real hesitation had been when they told him what would happen if the experiment failed. But then he decided that he would make sure it wouldn't fail. He would do his damndest to bring it to success.  
  
But that had all been before that talk with Randy...


	14. Chapter 14

The afternoon had worn into the evening, and Murdock was getting antsy. While taking his shower earlier in the day, he'd managed to hide away the stuff he would need for his plan; now it was just a matter of waiting for the time to use it. He felt badly that Frankie would be the goat in this, but only for a moment. Sometimes you just had to bite the bullet...  
  
Barney was a much more effective Able than Murdock had anticipated. He refused, almost politely, to allow them to visit the hospital. Hannibal would be out the next morning, BA a couple days later, therefore there was no reason to chance a 'problem' running back and forth. The Colonel would be under similar restriction when he arrived. Murdock wasn't sure how the guy planned on sleeping while keeping them under such close scrutiny, but, remembering the handcuffs, was not about to give him any trouble. Well, not much, anyway.  
  
For the evening repast, they called room service. Murdock watched his chance, and while Barney was dealing with the delivery boy, quickly made good his preparations. As usual, Frankie wasn't paying any attention to what was going on around him. It would make it that much more realistic. After all, the kid wouldn't even have to act now.  
  
Murdock and Frankie set the plates around the coffee table and sat on the floor. Barney sat in a chair between them and the door. The man was totally without trust. Murdock dug in enthusiastically - he wanted to get as much eaten as he could before the sparks started flying.  
  
Both other men also dug into the food. There was nothing quite as good as real, authentic south-of-the-border food. Usually. Frankie had taken only two bites when he made a face. Barney, absorbed, for once, in something other than the two of them, didn't notice. Frankie started to say something when Murdock gave him a quick elbow and frowned darkly.  
  
"Good, huh, Frankie?" Murdock glared a warning.  
  
"Uh, yeh, sure, great." It was more grimace than grin but it would do. Murdock continued to glare as he ate, making sure Frankie ate right along with him.  
  
It didn't take long. Frankie turned a beautiful shade of green, and grabbed his stomach. With effort, he pulled himself off the floor and staggered into the bathroom. The noises emanating from there caused the others to immediately lose their appetites. Barney hurried to the door, calling out to Frankie to see if he was okay. In response he got more sounds of heavy-duty retching.  
  
This continued for nearly twenty minutes, and finally Barney decided he had to do something. He called the hotel's front desk, asking for a doctor. He arrived within minutes - obviously the manager was quite concerned about a guest becoming so ill after eating the hotel's food. The doctor decided the safest bet was to take Frankie to the hospital and have his stomach pumped. He suspected food poisoning. That did not make Barney very happy. There was no way he could deal with Frankie ill and Murdock loose at the hospital.  
  
Murdock saw him reaching for his handcuffs. That would not do.  
  
"Hey, c'mon, man, I'm not going anywhere. If you're so worried, lock me in the bedroom, or the bathroom. But don't put those on again. You might be gone for hours, y'know? That just ain't humane!"  
  
Barney was still considering it when Frankie let out another groan, and the doctor was getting impatient.  
  
"Fine, the bathroom. But you damn well better be there when I get back or the rest of the team will pay for it."  
  
"Nooooo problemo, Barn - I mean, no problem. Promise."  
  
So Murdock found himself locked in the bathroom while the others headed for the hospital. He carefully pulled the small bottle of shampoo, which the hotel so thoughtfully had provided its guests, from his pocket and replaced it on the shelf. Smiling, he started in on the door lock. He wasn't nearly as fast as Face - hell, Face would have it open before you could even think about it. But soon enough he had the door open, and was racing down the hall. He'd seen the bank of telephone booths just off the lobby and he headed there immediately. He just hoped Maggie would be home...  
  
*****  
  
Sam sat in the room, watching Randy sleep. He felt strange. He hadn't felt like this for a long time. He knew what they were going to undertake would be dangerous. It was just stupid to think they would ever get away with it. They would be hunted and shot at and God only knew what else. Sure, they would have a good head start. Barish had not said he didn't have to report in every week; that was not part of the deal with the pills. Sam gave them maybe ten days before the hounds were loosed on their trail. And there would be a trail; very faint, but it would be there. For one thing, they had to have a car. There was no way Sam was going to hitchhike with Randy to California. He wanted to get there and get hidden. As quickly as possible.  
  
So, the purchase of a car would be the first of the trail he would leave. That was okay. He wouldn't make it all that easy. Private seller, pay out cash, don't worry about transfer of title for a while. A long while. He knew Barish would find it; he had the resources, the connections. He would find it and follow it. It wouldn't pan out; at some point they would dump it, find something else. Buy time. That's all he wanted until they got into Canada.  
  
Canada. Wonder what Randy would say about that? He sure as hell wasn't going directly to the coast. A few hundred miles out of the way, but necessary. It would be far easier to move from Canada to San Francisco without a trace than make a beeline for their destination and have Barish's people right behind them. Once they were that close, it would be far easier to take the anonymous public transportation back to the States.  
  
So he had the general plan in place. Not too tight, so they could adapt as needed. Not too loose, so they made mistakes. It would work, as well as any plan ever worked.  
  
He focused on Randy again. And that feeling. Protective. God, it was a heady feeling, that. Scary. Yeh, it had been a while. Sure, he'd looked out for Randy all the way through this, but it had been the job. Now, it was different. Now it was the two of them. The two of them. Sam was no longer on his own. Randy would be learning things, all right. Ironic. Sam would be teaching him the things Barish had wanted him to know, but he'd be learning them for a different reason now. And he'd be learning a few other things, too. Things Barish never wanted him to learn. To re-learn. And that would be hard. For Randy. For Sam.  
  
But that was all right. They'd be in this together. One man alone, against someone like Barish - it could be scary. Damn scary. But two men, together...That was different. That was a partnership. A team.  
  
Sam smiled. Maybe it would all work out after all.


	15. Chapter 15

"Murdock? Where's John? Is everyone okay?" Maggie had answered the phone on the first ring. She had hoped it would be Smith, but hearing a voice from any of the team was like manna from heaven to her.  
  
"Everyone's fine, Maggie. A few minor things, but nothing serious. Look, I don't have a lot of time and Hannibal said you would probably have some questions. But first off, did you figure out what happened to Face?"  
  
Maggie had been dreading that question, but she had an answer all prepared.  
  
"No, that's one of the problems. The coroner sent me the wrong file. I'm waiting for the right one to come, but there was some mix-up out there so it's going to take some time." She hoped that would satisfy them, even as the guilt draped itself around her shoulders.  
  
"The wrong...no, c'mon, I...damn it to hell!" Maggie winced at his words. "I'm sorry, Maggie. I know it's not your fault, but, damn..."  
  
Maggie wanted so badly to tell Murdock that Face was alive. It practically ripped itself out of her. But she couldn't. She couldn't take a chance that Face could be hurt if she spoke too soon. "I'm sorry, too, Murdock. More than you know." She cleared her throat, collected her thoughts. "But I do have some questions, Murdock. I need to know exactly what happened the day they were supposedly executed. I know about this Santana and you giving them the pills and all that already from John's letter. But what happened when they were revived? Exactly."  
  
This was what Murdock had dreaded. He'd prepared for it, knowing he might be the one to talk to Maggie. But giving her all the details about his best friend's death...He took a deep breath, went into auto run.  
  
"Okay. This is basically what Hannibal, BA, Frankie and I could put together. The guys were taken to, like a warehouse, to revive. Stockwell woke Hannibal first, and told him about Face..."  
  
"Stockwell woke Hannibal? He didn't wait for him to come to on his own?"  
  
"I guess not. When we talked later, he said he was real groggy, and it took a long time to clear the cobwebs. BA said he was, too, but it didn't last that long. So we figure Hannibal was revived early, before he would have normally. So anyway, then they went to look at...the body. Frankie and I got there just as they were leaving. I saw one of Stockwell's men kinda holding onto Hannibal as they left, and then they were gone. I saw BA then, and ran over and hugged him. I knew he was still kind of out of it, 'cause he actually hugged me back. Then I...I looked for Face, but he wasn't there. That's when Hannibal came back in and told us what had happened."  
  
"What was John like when he came back in? Did he seem okay? Or was he still groggy?"  
  
Murdock thought a moment. "Well, he was pretty upset, y'know. Seemed kinda dazed, I guess."  
  
"Okay. What did he say about the body? Did he describe it to you? Then, or later?"  
  
"Not then, he didn't. But when we debriefed, he said Face was cold, and...hard, but...the skin was still kinda soft-like..." This was so hard. "The eyes and mouth were open a bit. That's all."  
  
"Cold and hard? How long had it been since the 'execution'?"  
  
Murdock had to think. "Uh, not quite four hours, maybe a little less..."  
  
"One last thing. Did you or BA see the body? Then, or at the funeral?"  
  
"No, they were in too much of a hurry to get us all out of there. There was no real funeral. Three closed caskets, for the press, you know? We were told Face was taken to LA, to Father Magill. But the casket would have been sealed by then."  
  
"Okay. That explains a lot."  
  
"What do you mean, Maggie? What's it explain?"  
  
"Nothing, Murdock, just thinking out loud. I can't say any more right now, not until the right autopsy report gets here. Any idea when you'll be able to contact me again?"  
  
"Well, we're working on that. Stockwell's paying less and less attention to what I do, so I'll probably be the one getting in touch most often. I'd give you my phone number but it's probably bugged."  
  
"Okay, well, why don't you call me in a couple weeks? I should have more to tell you then." If Carla comes through, she thought.  
  
"Okay, doc. I better get going now before Barney comes back. I'll call you in two weeks then. Bye."  
  
Maggie sat, listening to the dial tone. It fit. Rigor mortis would have set in, yes. But the body shouldn't have been cool, let alone cold. And the skin shouldn't have felt like putty. If John was still groggy from the drugs...it explained it, pretty much. Someone who looked like Face, but had been dead much longer. Maggie didn't even want to think about how they got the body. The skin would probably have been some kind of prosthesis, to make it look even more like Face, which would explain the feel. And John, still fighting the effects of the drug - yeah, it all came together. They had to make John believe it was his friend he was seeing.  
  
So what had they really done with Face?  
  
*****  
  
Sam's life was getting infinitely more complicated. Someone at the hospital had contacted the county social services office. They wouldn't talk to Sam, except to give him generalities. Randy's competency was being looked at, with the do-gooder social worker thinking he should be brought into their web, not allowed to just leave the hospital on his own. Talking about a competency hearing, for chrissake. The social worker, some young bitch probably just out of college, had almost laughed when Sam said he would take care of Randy. He had to admit, he could understand. As far as they were concerned, he wasn't any better off than Randy, at least financially.  
  
Added to the problem was Randy's shoulder. The doctor, having been taken in by Sam's charms, had been more than open in discussing his patient. His other injuries were healing nicely. His shoulder would take at least six weeks to be back to normal, and then only if he got the proper physical therapy. The doctor, social worker notwithstanding, put Sam in touch with the physical therapist. Sam had to learn, and quickly, what exercises Randy would need to do and how to do them.  
  
Sam was also trying to get ready for their getaway. Which meant getting hold of money, a great deal of money. A car to purchase, camping equipment (no hotels or motels to leave a trail), money for food along the way. Clothes. Gas. He could get some from the accounts set up for the experiment; the rest would have to be tapped from his own sources. He knew a few of them had been found and effectively closed to him. There were others that no one would know about. He would spend the afternoon taking care of the practicalities. Quietly, though. Very quietly.  
  
The last complication was in a hospital bed. Randy was becoming more and more unmanageable. His excitement at going west was almost without bounds, and it took all of Sam's wits and guile to keep the man from telling everyone he saw about it. Luckily, the few Randy had managed to tell hadn't taken it seriously. After all, Randy was...special. No one paid a lot of attention to his ramblings. Sam did nothing to dissuade this overall picture. It had worked well up until now. Up until the social worker showed up.  
  
Sam sighed. Sometimes, even the best of plans had a way of backfiring on him...


	16. Chapter 16

"Very well, gentlemen. You know what to do. Don't worry about him just yet; he's not going anywhere." Carla handed over an 8x10 photo of Randy. "This is the one to watch, and carefully." A photo of Sam was also turned over to the two Ables. "You'll fly down immediately. This is to be a two-team surveillance. I want no slip-ups. General Stockwell has no wish to be bothered with this, so I've been saddled with it. You'll report directly to me." She grimaced convincingly.  
  
"If it appears they're trying to leave?"  
  
"Let them. Just make sure you don't lose them. This is strictly a surveillance mission. If that changes, I'll let you know."  
  
The two men nodded and left the office. Carla smiled. That was so easy. A few clicks on the company computer, and the two men had disappeared. They were good. No way Peck or his partner would know they were being followed. And simply mentioning that Stockwell didn't want to be bothered would ensure the two would keep quiet even if he stepped right in front of them. Such were the consequences of power.  
  
*****  
  
Sam had spent the last three hours moving from one telephone booth to another. Each time, a different account was accessed, funds transferred to the local bank, where he had hastily set up an account this morning under a fictitious name. He was now on his way to said bank to withdraw the funds and get started on the rest of his preparations. He already had a car picked out; he would pick that up immediately after the bank visit. An older, non-descript boat of a car, but it had a large enough trunk to carry their gear and supplies without problem. He would fill the trunk before going to visit Randy later that evening.  
  
He'd thought about the timing of the whole operation. Once he had their supplies, there was really no reason to wait any longer. And he had a really bad feeling about that social worker. He wouldn't put it past her to move up the hearing date. He knew about social workers. His thoughts about them in general were not pleasant. Yeh, the sooner they got out of there, the better.  
  
He'd put the plan into motion tonight.  
  
*****  
  
Randy was waiting for Sam to come. He was worried. More than worried. That woman had been here again. The social worker. Asking him a bunch of questions he couldn't answer. Questions about his past. About his family, friends, what he'd done for a job, where he'd lived. He kept having to say he didn't know. The more he said it, the angrier she'd gotten. Kept telling him he must remember something, that he had to quit lying to her. When he told her he wasn't lying, she started saying that Sam made him say he didn't remember. That Sam was making him lie to her.  
  
Then she'd smiled at him. Patted his hand like he was some sort of little kid.  
  
"Randy, we're only trying to help you. Really help you. We'll find you a place to live, make sure you have food and clothes, help you find a job. We'll make sure you're properly taken care of. Sam can't do that, Randy. I know he's your friend, but, well, if he could take care of you like you say, you wouldn't have been out by yourself and gotten beaten up like this."  
  
He almost told her that it was his fault for dropping his pill that day, but he didn't. He remembered Sam was really stubborn about that. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone about those. Ever. He wanted to defend Sam, though. It wasn't true what she was saying. Sam was going to take him out west. To the ocean. She couldn't do that. She wouldn't. She wanted to stick him in some half-way house, like that one in Minneapolis. He glared at her.  
  
Fat chance.  
  
*****  
  
Sam moved quickly and quietly down the stairs. The staff might be used to seeing him, but even they would question his being in the hospital in the middle of the night. He was about to pull off a Houdini act. He had to be nuts to be doing this. How the hell do you move a patient out of a hospital without anyone seeing it happen? Well, you have to be familiar with some of the darker aspects of a hospital, for one.  
  
His destination was the morgue. He'd grabbed the appropriate attire from the locker room before heading down. He gave the woman in the office some cock and bull story about being new and having to transport a body, and she gave him the full procedure and helped him wheel out the cadaver carrier. He thanked her as the elevator doors closed.  
  
He left the cadaver carrier just outside the elevator on the floor below Randy's, off to the side so the nurse at the desk wouldn't see it. He couldn't use it on Randy's floor, naturally, but he had to move through several other locations after he had him. He continued up one floor. Now, he just had to get rid of the nurse.  
  
He slipped into the first room past the elevator. Quietly. Listened. Normal breathing, hospital noises. He moved over to the bed, quickly pressed the call button. A moment later he was across the hall in the opposite room, the door open a crack to watch.  
  
It took less than two minutes for the nurse to arrive and enter the 'bait' room. Immediately Sam was out of his room, racing down the hall to Randy's room in soft soled shoes. He stopped abruptly in front of it, and eased the door open, not wanting to wake Randy unexpectedly. The door shut behind him, and he stood, catching his breath.  
  
His own breathing slowed, and he listened for Randy. He was still asleep, thank God. There was a dim light above the bed, enough so Sam could see the man and the equipment around the bed. He was still being fed an IV of mild painkillers, but not enough for Sam's needs. Randy had to be out, period. He pulled the syringe from his jacket pocket. This was the really bad part. He knew enough about tranquilizers to make an educated guess as to dosage. He'd lessened it some, because of the meds Randy was already getting, but not much. Still, he worried.  
  
Quickly, quietly, he slid the needle into the IV tube, depressed the plunger. Stood back, out of the light, listening, watching. Within a few minutes, Randy's face relaxed completely, his breathing slowed and deepened. Sam waited a few more minutes to make sure Randy was okay, then pulled the wheelchair over to the bed.  
  
Damn. The monitors. He'd completely forgotten them. How could he be so stupid! If those were disconnected, the nurse would be in here in a flash. He could take her out, but what if one of the other patients needed her? Damn. Okay. Think.  
  
He needed the other diversion. He'd planned on using it for the actual getaway. Now, he'd have to adjust it slightly, give him time to disconnect everything and make the getaway. He moved to the door, peeking out. He could see the nurse's shoulder and head behind the counter; she was looking down at some paperwork. Good. He took three long steps across the hall to yet another room. This time he didn't reach for the call button. Instead, he moved behind the patient's monitors. A few moments later, he again stepped across the hall into Randy's room, the monitors minus a couple wires. Again, it took only a moment before the nurse came hurrying into the room.  
  
Sam paid only minimal attention to the other room now. The nurse would be busy, checking the patient, contacting a repairman. He had work to do. Getting Randy out of bed, into the wheelchair, disconnecting the wires and IV. He checked the door. He had to wait a few moments, lucking out when he saw the repairman arrive, the nurse opening the door for him. The second it closed, he and Randy, sprawled unconscious in the wheelchair, were out in the hall, racing for the elevator.  
  
He shoved the wheelchair in unceremoniously, pushed the button for the next floor. The elevator doors closed just as the nurse was coming out of the patient's room. On the next floor, looking anxiously for anyone in the hallway, he pulled the cadaver carrier in, next to the wheelchair.  
  
Sam had no time to relax. He lifted the canopy and pulled Randy up out of the wheelchair, laying him carefully inside. The canopy was laid over the top. Discreet. Very discreet. Sam felt a moment's unease. Stupid. Things like this always freaked him out. Too close for comfort. He mentally shook himself, waited for the elevator to reach its destination.  
  
*****  
  
"Team One here. I've got the car. Over."  
  
"Team Two here. Roger that. He's gone up to the room now. Had some kind of gurney with him. I think this is it."  
  
"Roger, Team Two. I'll be waiting."  
  
Team Two moved toward the exit. No point in going upstairs. He knew where the target was going. It would be too difficult to follow whatever route the man took when he left without being seen in the nearly empty halls. He would take his position in the second car, ready for his part of the tail. He was glad they had come directly to the hospital that evening, instead of checking into a motel. It would appear they wouldn't be staying in Clewiston after all.


	17. Chapter 17

They had been traveling for just over a week. Sam assumed Barish would have the bloodhounds out now. They would have to get rid of the car soon. In the next day or so.  
  
Sam was tired. Bone tired. The days following their flight from the hospital had drained almost all energy from him. Randy had come to that following day, late afternoon. Sick as a dog. In pain from his shoulder. Confused. Scared. Sam had had to find a place to camp out much earlier than he had planned, earlier than he had wanted to. Had to fight through Randy's confusion to give him his pills and the pain killers. Almost a physical fight, Randy had been so far out in left field. When he'd finally calmed down, fallen into an exhausted sleep, Sam wondered if he'd made a mistake. A colossal mistake.  
  
The next day had been better. Randy's shoulder was still causing him problems, but Sam could give him the pain killers without a hassle. Sam was able to talk to Randy, explain what had happened. That he'd been afraid the social worker would interfere with their plans, so they'd left early. They were on their way west. Whatever else Randy took in, or didn't, he heard that loud and clear. Sam got the idea Randy would step off the Empire State building if Sam told him it would get him west.  
  
The days after that became somewhat of a routine. They would get up in the morning, break camp, Randy hindering more than he helped but trying. Eventually they would get everything packed up and head out. Sam had mapped up a circuitous route, weaving in different directions, but generally heading northwest. A week after they left, Sam started Randy on the exercises from the physical therapist. It was hard on him, but he did what he was told. The only time Randy expressed anything other than cooperation was if Sam suggested staying anywhere longer than overnight. He became quite 'animated' then.  
  
Those were the times when Sam started thinking there might be something wrong.  
  
*****  
  
Carla had received the report from Barish's group the day before. Nothing she didn't already know, or guess. He had people "checking into" the disappearance. At this point, the doctor apparently didn't know that the men's absence was deliberate. Which was good. It gave them all a little extra time. Of course, Stockwell, via Carla, had offered assistance, which had, of course, been turned down. Barish was still playing things close to the cuff. Which was fine with Carla. She didn't need Stockwell's Ables discovering her Ables. That was a little too much cat and mouse for her.  
  
Thinking of her Ables, she glanced over their latest report. She chuckled slightly. Seems her men did not appreciate camping out in their cars every night. It seemed their quarry was determined not to leave a very easy trail. Smart move. Camping out in any field or woods they happened to be near when night fell. She wondered when they would switch to running at night. It would make it tougher for her people in one respect, easier in another. She wasn't worried. They were up to it.  
  
Carla had also heard from Dr. Sullivan. She had spoken with the pilot, given him exactly the information she had been told to. She'd also had some questions. Very intelligent woman, Dr. Sullivan. Had a few things all figured out. Unfortunately, she'd wanted answers to some questions that Carla was not prepared to give out; not just yet, anyway. She did give the doctor some additional information. That Peck was no longer under Stockwell's control, but Carla did know where he was, what he was doing. She did not tell Maggie that, at this precise moment, Peck was really under no one's control. That information would have to wait a great deal longer. It wouldn't do to have Maggie let the team know that Face was not only alive, but free.  
  
Now her only concern was at what point Barish would send out the dogs, and how vicious those dogs would be.  
  
*****  
  
"That's the wrong city, Sam."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"It's the wrong city, Sam." Randy spoke with exaggerated patience. He'd been studying the map. Usually things like that just made him dizzy, but he was determined to know how much further they had to go, so he just worked things out a little at a time. Now he knew they were going north, not west. And had been, for a long time.  
  
"We don't go there, Sam. That's not going west. We're going west."  
  
"Not directly, Randy. We have to kinda skirt around things a bit. Make sure that social worker can't track us down."  
  
Randy looked at Sam. That kinda made sense. But they'd been driving for days now. Why would she still be after them? He wasn't that important. Randy looked back at the map. Something wasn't right. He glanced at Sam, deciding to keep quiet until he could figure things out.  
  
Something was different now. He wasn't sure what, exactly. Like the map. Yeh, it still confused him, but not as much as it used to. And he didn't feel so...fuzzy all the time. Maybe it was because he had something he wanted now. A goal. Yeh. He had a goal now. A goal he wanted really, really bad.  
  
Sam didn't seem to understand that.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal watched as Frankie ran the obstacle course yet one more time. The kid was finally getting into shape. He knew Frankie hated it; so had Face. Hannibal smiled at the thought of how Face used to complain every time Hannibal had taken them on training exercises. But he'd always given it his best shot. Always. Hannibal sighed. They'd been putting a lot of energy into Frankie. Demanding a lot from him, physically, mentally. Maybe too much. He'd actually blown up at Hannibal yesterday.  
  
"Look, I am not Face, okay? I'm ME. Give me explosives, special effects, I'll make you a blockbuster. But don't expect me to be Face. Have Stockwell get you somebody else to do the lying and cheating!"  
  
Well, that had ended it, not unexpectedly. Hannibal had just been surprised that it was he who'd knocked Frankie on his ass instead of BA or Murdock. A commanding officer shouldn't do that. But at least Frankie had quit bitching about the training.  
  
They were all on edge. Murdock's call to Maggie while they were on that mission had not satisfied anyone. He was due to call her again in a few days. Hopefully she would have something more to tell them.  
  
He'd thought about Maggie's questions about Face. The condition of the body. And Hannibal's condition when he'd looked at it. Who else had seen the body. Those questions ate at Hannibal. Why would she want to know about all of that? Because she already knew there was something wrong with Face's death. Even without the autopsy report. But what? It was almost as if she thought...no. No, that was Face.  
  
He knew it.  
  
*****  
  
Sam pulled the car over into a wooded area, watching the rear view mirror carefully. Maybe it was just that Colorado had a lot of highway patrol. Or maybe someone was keeping an eye on them. He just knew that there had been way too many patrol cars in the last few hours. He had waited until he saw the last one's taillights disappear over the hill, and immediately took the next exit. He drove into the boonies like a rabbit in front of a fox, until he'd found the perfect spot.  
  
He watched Randy as they were unloading the gear. He wanted to make sure he wasn't trying to lift with his bad arm, but Sam also was concerned about the way he'd been acting. He knew the medications had been adjusted, to try to relieve some of the foggy thinking. And that seemed to be kicking in just fine. But there was something else there, too. An edginess. Anything Sam said or did that gave the slightest hint of not getting Randy where he wanted to go, as soon as possible, seemed to trigger an antagonism. Nothing overt. Just the way Randy would look at him. Or like this morning, when he'd been looking at the map.  
  
Sam knew Randy thought they should just go straight to San Francisco. The first few times he'd questioned their travels, he'd accepted the social worker story. But Sam knew that was fading. In fact, it almost seemed that Randy's faith in Sam himself was going downhill. And fast. That wasn't good. Not good at all.  
  
Sam sighed. Why had things gone so smoothly when he was on the wrong side?  
  
*****  
  
"We may have a problem, ma'am. We've had a lot of activity from the local authorities in the last several hours."  
  
"Any attempt to stop the targets?"  
  
"No, ma'am. But there's a lot of noise on the radio. They're definitely reporting to someone on the location."  
  
Carla did not like that one bit. Barish. Carla may just have underestimated the doctor. Well, she had a few tricks up her sleeve as well. She didn't like to use Stockwell's name too often, but she could if she had to. But not yet. Her men should be able to handle things at this point.  
  
"Where's Peck now?"  
  
"They pulled off the highway, took the back roads. They're setting up camp now."  
  
"Okay. Listen, I don't want them having any more problems with the locals. Obviously they know, or at least suspect, that they're being watched." Chalk up one flaw for Barish - the patrol hadn't been told to keep a low profile. "They're going to try to ditch the car and get new wheels. I want you to make it very easy for them, understand? Whatever you have to do, make sure they have different transport. ASAP."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
The two men looked at each other. This had to be one of the strangest assignments they'd ever had.


	18. Chapter 18

They had settled in for the night, campfire shielded as much as possible from view, pop-up tent set up with their sleeping bags. Sam had opened some canned goods and was heating them over the fire. Randy sat to one side, watching. He hadn't liked it one bit when Sam had pulled off the highway, but hadn't said anything. Sam would just have some clever answer that he wouldn't be able to argue with. He'd tried a couple times to fight with him over their direction, and he always lost.  
  
Sam wasn't saying anything right now, just stirring whatever it was in the frying pan. Randy kept watching, felt the anger rising in him. Why couldn't Sam just drive straight through? Why did he keep lying to him all the time? If he didn't want to go, he should've said so and stayed in Florida. Randy would've gotten there just fine on his own. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't helpless. He could find his friends without Sam. He didn't need Sam.  
  
He could get to California without anybody.  
  
*****  
  
Team One - aka Kurt - was watching quietly from a distance. He didn't need to be too close - only enough to make sure that both men were where they were expected to be. He would stay there until they put out the fire and crawled into their tent. Then he would retire to his car, parked off the road but within viewing of the target car. Team Two - Daryl - would relieve him in a few hours. Kurt was hoping Sam and Randy would switch to night driving soon. Once they did that, Kurt and Daryl would be able to switch to just one car. At least that way, they'd have a little company during the long hours.  
  
It seemed as though there was something wrong with the two men tonight. Usually he could hear their voices, faintly, as they conversed. Tonight there seemed to be almost no conversation between them. Or if there was, it was very, very quiet. And instead of staying up talking after the meal, the one, Randy, went almost immediately into the tent. Sam had buried the campfire in dirt and followed shortly after.  
  
Kurt watched for a few more minutes. Something definitely going on between the two. He moved quickly and quietly back to his car. He had the feeling he needed to stay extra alert tonight. He quietly alerted Daryl, giving him a heads up. It could be a long night.  
  
*****  
  
Randy heard Sam come into the tent, slide into his sleeping bag. He waited, listening to Sam's breathing become slower, regular, deep. He kept his own breathing even and regular. He started counting to sixty. Curled his thumb in. Counted to sixty again. One finger curled. Sixty again. Another finger. When he'd curled up all his fingers and both thumbs, he told himself, five more times. And started counting again.  
  
Finally, he finished the last sixty. Six times sixty times ten. About an hour. Sam's breathing hadn't changed for the last three sets of ten. Good. He slowly eased himself out of the sleeping bag. It was hard, because of his shoulder. Everything was hard because of that. But he'd manage. He'd move a bit, stop, listen, move some more. Eventually he was outside the tent. He listened for a long time. Nothing. Good.  
  
He moved as quickly as he could through the woods, back to the car. Carefully opened the drivers door, slid carefully in and drew the door shut. He sat for several minutes, letting his racing heart slow, watching for any movement in the tent. Nothing. Okay. This would be the hard part. Randy had no doubt that the minute he turned the key, purloined from the tent before Sam had come to bed, Sam would be up and running. He would have to move fast then. It would be iffy then, getting through the trees, backing up, fast. It wasn't that far. He could do it.  
  
He thought.  
  
He wasn't even sure he knew how to drive. He'd been watching Sam the last couple of days. It didn't look that hard. He could do it, he was sure. His hand moved over to the passenger side, where he'd left the map. Touched it lightly, reassured. Sam thought he'd been keeping track of where they were; he'd actually been watching where they should have gone. He knew the numbers of the roads he had to take. He had them all in his head. He didn't know how he could keep all those things in his head like that; he hadn't been able to keep anything up there before. Now, it just seemed to happen. No time to wonder about that right now. Right now he had to get this car moving.  
  
He turned the key and listened as the engine roared to life. Slipped it into reverse, hit the gas. Swerved dangerously around trees, sliding past some, nicked a couple. Found the road. He swung the wheel wildly, shoved the gear to "D" and hit the gas once more. Headed back toward the highway they had left only a few hours before. Grinned widely.  
  
California, here I come...  
  
*****  
  
Kurt snapped to attention when he heard the car start and almost immediately come roaring backwards out of the woods. He started his own car, grabbing his radio, as the target's car screeched out of reverse and headed back down the road toward the highway.  
  
"Team Two! Team Two! Target moving! NOW! Heading back to the interstate!"  
  
Kurt had no idea if he was in surveillance or pursuit mode now. But he was going to have to catch up with the other car regardless. Damn.  
  
*****  
  
Sam heard the car starting. What the hell?! He pulled himself out of the sleeping bag, half-awake, and shoved out of the tent. He had seen at a glance that Randy was gone. The headlights of the car, jerking across the trees, were receding fast.  
  
"Randy! Randy, wait!" He was practically screaming as he ran. This can't be happening! Sam was close to panic. He tore through the brush, trying to catch up to the car, knowing he was already too late. But he kept running anyway, ignoring the pain of bare feet on rough ground. He shoved branches aside as best he could, many striking him in the face and body before he even saw them.  
  
Finally he reached the road, the dust from the gravel thick in the air. He'd missed the drive, slipped down into the ditch, shin deep in cold water. Breath coming in ragged gasps, he pulled himself up the other side of the ditch, onto the roadbed. He couldn't see anything for dust. Disoriented, he looked around, trying to get his bearings. He saw headlights coming through the cloud. Randy?  
  
*****  
  
Daryl, half asleep in the other car, further down the road, jumped at the excited radio transmission. His car started and he made a quick u-turn, heading back down the road, toward the encampment.  
  
"Team One - status at the camp?"  
  
"Team Two - unknown. Have target's taillights in view - check the camp then follow. Still heading toward interstate."  
  
"Roger." Daryl sped up. He was worried. Kurt surely would have noticed if they were breaking camp. So what would make them leave so suddenly? So suddenly they must have left most of their gear?  
  
He continued down the road, searching for the rural drive that marked the camp 'entrance'. It was hard to see with just the headlights. The tall grass along the roadbed didn't help. He came up on a patch of still settling dust, realizing almost too late that this was where the cars had made their sudden departure. He started braking, and then stared in horror as a figure popped up out of the dust cloud. Too late, he slammed on the brakes and heard the sickening thud of a body hitting the car.


	19. Chapter 19

Randy was sailing down the interstate. It had taken a little bit to get used to the steering; he'd almost lost it a couple times going around curves. But now he was grinning like a Cheshire cat, watching the sun slowly peeking over the horizon - behind him. He'd done it. He'd outwitted Sam, was driving a car, was heading out west. Nothing was going to stop him now.  
  
He saw the highway patrol heading east on the other side of the median. Paid no attention. He was watching his speed, staying in his lane, paying attention to his driving. He felt a tinge of anxiety when another patrol car passed him. He tried to ignore it, although he saw the officer give him a good long look as he went by.  
  
Randy was starting to wonder about the things Sam had told him. About that social worker. He couldn't believe she would call out the highway patrol just for him, but why else would they be so interested in him? He had to admit, she'd been a pretty determined woman, but geez.  
  
The third patrol car didn't pass. He saw the lights flashing behind him. Great. Just great...  
  
*****  
  
Kurt was following somewhat closely behind the target car. It looked like there was only one occupant but he couldn't be sure. He hadn't heard anything from Daryl; his calls to him had gone unanswered. It concerned him, but not unduly. Since moving into the foothills they had had sporadic problems with the signal. He would just have to keep trying. Daryl had probably gotten delayed checking out the camp.  
  
He noted the highway patrol. It certainly hadn't taken them long to pick up the trail again. He watched somewhat nervously as the second patrol car passed them. They were getting rather obvious. That was not a good sign.  
  
It took almost an hour for the next one to show up. It passed Kurt's car and pulled in between him and the old bomber and drove in tandem for a while. Something about it bothered Kurt. There was something...wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it right away. And then he got it. Damn.  
  
The insignia on the door had been off-center.  
  
Kurt had no way of contacting Carla now. She had said repeatedly this was surveillance only. But a fake patrol car? And only last night she'd told them to make sure it was easy for them to get a different vehicle. He had the feeling Carla wanted these guys to get wherever the hell it was they were heading for, and this fake cop didn't look like a friendly escort.  
  
When the patrol car's lights started flashing, attempting to pull the car over, Kurt made his decision. He sped up, pulling ahead of the patrol car. With a sudden, swift turn, he forced the patrol car off the road and into the ditch. The car spun wildly in the muddy terrain, coming to a sudden standstill facing the wrong way. Kurt was out of the car and had his pistol pointed through the passenger window in an instant.  
  
"Don't move. Who do you work for?"  
  
The fake cop stared stonily ahead. Kurt sighed. He hated this part of the business. Without asking again, he swung the butt of the gun, hitting the man just above and behind the ear. Kurt hurried back to his own car, pulling a small kit from the back seat. It took him only minutes to roll the finger prints. He would fax them to Carla at the earliest possible opportunity. Well, he had one of the bad guys. Now where the hell was...  
  
He couldn't believe it. The targets had actually pulled over and stopped a few yards ahead. Not quite believing his luck, Kurt started walking slowly toward the car. Reaching the driver's door, he looked in and was surprised to see Randy alone in the car.  
  
Randy rolled down the window, eyes wide. "Can...can I help you?"  
  
Kurt looked down at the man, his mind miles behind them, on Daryl and Sam.  
  
"No, I think I can help you, though."  
  
Randy glanced quickly at the wrecked patrol car, then stared at Kurt again. "Why did you do that?" Suspicious. Curious.  
  
Kurt thought about the report he'd gotten on Randy. Not quite right upstairs. He had a cousin like that.  
  
"Your friend, Sam. He wants to keep you safe."  
  
"Sam sent you? But...how? I just left him a little while ago." Confusion overcame suspicion.  
  
"I've been following you guys for quite a while. Before today." Don't lie to him, then you don't have to keep track of the lies. "Kind of an insurance policy." He glanced back at the cars behind them. Thinking he'd have to move soon, before the fake cop woke up. "Look, we can't stay here. There might be more of these guys, trying to stop you. We also need to get rid of this car. They know it, they'll be watching for it."  
  
Randy gulped. The excitement, the confidence of earlier was fading fast. He wasn't used to this stuff. Cops had rousted them before, plenty, but this...And this guy. Sam had never mentioned anybody else being in on things. But then, Sam had been acting funny all along. He'd known there were things he wasn't telling him. But he had said they had to get rid of the car. How did this guy know about that? Damn. He wished Sam were here. Why wasn't Sam here?  
  
"Where's Sam? I need to talk to him. I need to talk to him now."  
  
Kurt thought fast. Sam must still be back at the camp. Daryl must have found him. Was that why he wasn't answering? Was that good or bad? Kurt didn't want to think about that right now. Daryl could handle Sam. And then they'd be on their way to find Kurt and Randy.  
  
"He's coming, Randy. My other friend is with him. They'll catch up with us. But we can't stay here. It's not safe for you. Let me take care of some stuff back there and we'll take off. We'll take it easy, give him time to find us. Okay?"  
  
Randy looked at him, doubtful. Kurt had to come up with something. Something to make Randy believe Sam had sent him. Something he knew from the reports. It was a gamble...  
  
"We aren't going to get too far ahead of him, Randy. We can't. Sam's got your pills."  
  
*****  
  
Daryl drove silently down the highway. He'd heard Kurt's repeated transmissions but hadn't replied. He'd wanted to, badly. But when the barrel of a .45 was pointed at your head, you did whatever the person holding it told you to.  
  
By rights, the man sitting next to him should be out cold, at the very least. Daryl knew he was hurting. He'd cast a glance at him every few minutes, hoping for an opening. The guy was deathly pale and sweating like crazy. But he held the gun steady. Daryl had never seen anyone move as quickly as this guy had.  
  
The Able had raced to the front of the car, expecting to find a dead body. It took him a moment to find the man, who had been tossed into the ditch. He reached down, pulling the man's head and shoulders out of the icy cold water, and was relieved to hear him groan. At least he was alive. Dragging him as gently as he could out of the wet ditch, he had started checking him for injuries. It was obvious he had some kind of injury to his right leg; he gasped with pain when Daryl ran his hand over it. He was still checking him over when he heard the definite sound of a cocking gun.  
  
"Hi, there. My name is Sam, and you, sir, are in deep shit."  
  
With the barrel pressed into his neck, Daryl had carefully maneuvered Sam into the passenger seat and driven back into the camp. While Sam stood leaning on the door, Daryl quickly gathered the essentials from the camp and tossed them in the back seat.  
  
Back in the car, he'd looked at Sam, wondering how much his captor had guessed. "Look, mister, I'm really sorry about this. Let me take you to the hospital and..."  
  
"No, that's not what we're going to do. Y'see, I don't believe in coincidence. Coincidences make me real nervous. Now I had an idea someone was following us. And I know I heard more than one car leave here. Put that together with that radio you've got there, and I figure you're going to lead me to my friend."  
  
Daryl looked at the gun, pointed unwaveringly at him. Nodding his head, he started back down the road, to the interstate.  
  
*****  
  
Sam listened as the radio crackled to life once more. Good. They hadn't heard from this guy's partner for some time. It made Sam nervous, and he was already strung so tight he felt ready to blow. His leg, stretched out as much as possible in the confines of the car, was burning. He was pretty sure it wasn't broken, but what else was wrong he didn't even want to think about. His whole body ached, and he knew there was a lot more going on inside that he didn't want to know. It was foolish, what he was doing. But he had no choice. Not yet.  
  
He watched the driver carefully. After the first radio transmission, he'd had to admit that they had been following him and Randy. But Daryl - if that was his real name - had claimed that they were only supposed to follow, not stop, them. At the mention of Dr. Barish, his face had gone completely blank. A few more questions and Sam had been sure the man had no idea who Barish was or what the doctor had been up to. Which only made him wonder who the hell these guys were working for. But on that, Daryl was a sphinx.  
  
Now, Sam listened intently to what Daryl's partner was saying. Something about a fake highway patrol trying to stop Randy. God. When Sam heard what this guy, Kurt, had done, and that he now had Randy with him, Sam didn't know whether to feel relief or higher panic. They had to catch up with them before things got completely out of his control. Like they weren't already.  
  
"Tell him there's a truck stop a few miles ahead of him. He's to stop there and wait for you. You even hint that I'm here and you're dead in the ditch, got it?"  
  
"Loud and clear." Daryl picked up the radio and relayed the instructions to Kurt.  
  
"Glad you're back on air, Daryl. Any trouble? Did you find Sam?"  
  
Daryl glanced at the man holding the gun. He was starting to tremble, the gun shaking slightly. Daryl couldn't believe the guy was still conscious.  
  
"Uh, it's complicated. I'll explain when I catch up with you."  
  
"Roger. ETA?"  
  
"Twenty minutes, give or take." Daryl broke the connection. Looked at Sam again.  
  
"I wish you'd believe me, Sam. We're not the bad guys here. Just the opposite. We're supposed to make sure you get where you're going."  
  
"On whose direction?" Sam asked again, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. Sure enough, Daryl just stared ahead at the road. Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the truck stop.


	20. Chapter 20

Hannibal stared across the room at his team. Murdock was switching channels on the television set, stopping now and then on a nature or space show, not staying too long on anything. BA was tinkering with the carburetor from the van. He'd taken it apart and cleaned it at least twice today. Frankie was putting on makeup. Hannibal had set him three different disguises to come up with. So far, after three hours, he'd come up with one that was acceptable to the Colonel. Every now and then, Hannibal could feel the glare coming from the man.  
  
Things had not gone well with the team's efforts with Frankie. Oh, he was getting into shape alright. And he was putting more and more effort into his acting. But there was a deep resentment in there, barely hidden. Stockwell wasn't helping. He kept reminding them all, in front of Frankie, that Frankie's role was as an explosives expert, not as a conman. Neither Frankie nor Stockwell seemed to understand that the team didn't need an explosives man. They all knew enough to do what they needed to in that department; always had. What they needed was someone to get things done quickly, to procure the difficult, spur-of-the-moment items they had to have to succeed. What they needed was someone who was resourceful, quick-thinking, sharp-witted, adaptable even in tense situations. What they needed was Face.  
  
He'd spoken with Murdock this morning. It was time to contact Maggie again and Hannibal wanted it done as soon as possible. She had to have some answers for them soon. She just had to. What was wrong with the team was more than just Frankie. Until they knew what had really happened to Face, none of them would feel...what? Content? Happy? Or maybe just at peace.  
  
Yeh. What they needed was peace.  
  
*****  
  
Kurt had pulled into the truck stop, parking at the back of the diner. He'd driven as slowly as possible without being noticeable, hoping Daryl would catch up. When he'd finally gotten a response from him, he'd known without asking that something was seriously wrong. Just the timbre of his partner's voice had told him that.  
  
He looked at his watch. They had about fifteen minutes before Daryl would arrive. He needed to contact Carla, let her know what had happened. He should wait until Daryl arrived, but there was that feeling again. If he didn't call her now, he may not have another chance to for quite some time. He'd never been a believer in hunches, but this was so strong he had to follow.  
  
He looked, hesitant, at his passenger. Randy had not said a word since Kurt had taken him to his car. He just sat there, staring straight ahead. He hadn't been still, exactly. Kept scratching his fingers on his pant leg; never moved his hands, just his fingers, constantly scratching. Kurt had tried to talk to him, but had gotten silence in return. So Kurt would just keep telling him that he was there to help, and things would work out okay. Anything to calm him down. Whether Randy believed him or not, Kurt had no idea.  
  
He shut off the engine and turned so he was facing Randy.  
  
"Hey, kid." Kurt wasn't that much older than Randy, but somehow, 'kid' just seemed appropriate. He spoke softly, not wanting to startle him. "I have to make a phone call. I want you to wait here for me. Don't leave the car. Will you do that? Wait here in the car for me?"  
  
Randy finally looked at him. He still had that 'deer in the headlights' look, but at least he was responding in some fashion. He locked eyes with Kurt for a moment, swallowed, and nodded his head. Kurt realized he was too scared to leave the car. He smiled, hopefully in an encouraging way, and started to get out. Randy reached over suddenly, grabbed his arm.  
  
"You'll come back?"  
  
Taken aback, Kurt stared back at him. "Yes, of course, I'll come back." He thought for another second. "I promise. I won't leave you."  
  
Still suspicious, but somewhat mollified, Randy nodded and returned to staring through the windshield.  
  
*****  
  
Daryl and Sam drove at a steady pace. Neither wanted any unwanted attention, and the highway was busy with real patrol cars now. They passed the disabled fake car and the old bomber. Sam noted that there were two black sedans along with the official vehicles. He had a pretty good idea who they belonged to. He slouched down a little in the seat, wincing as he had to bend his leg.  
  
He wasn't sure how much longer he would last. The initial burning sensation in his leg had turned to a throbbing ache, and he felt like he was floating in the car. Daryl's silhouette had started blurring some time ago. He no longer felt cold; that was something. Now it was all numb, except for the leg. He would like nothing more than to close his eyes and disappear in the blackness that was closing in, but he couldn't. Not yet. Not until he got to Randy, made sure he was safe. Found out what these guys wanted. Why they were here. Who they worked for.  
  
So damn many questions...  
  
*****  
  
Carla was definitely not happy. It hadn't helped when a chagrined Kurt had almost desperately reminded her that she'd told them to help the pair find a different vehicle no matter what. It was bad enough that Randy was now with Kurt. Not knowing where Sam was, was infuriating. Those two had to stay together. She could not operate with one blind eye. Tersely, she told Kurt to wait for Daryl and then find Sam. He was to report back to her the moment they found him. She would decide what to do then.  
  
She drummed her fingers on the desk angrily. Unpredictable. One was bad enough; the two together had now proven they could wreak havoc on even the most seasoned of Stockwell's agents. She had intended to ensure Barish didn't interfere with them; she most certainly had not intended her own people to be actively involved. It created complications. A myriad of complications that she didn't want to deal with.  
  
She glanced at her calendar. Damn. Still had to deal with Sullivan, too. The team, probably the pilot, would be getting in touch with her in the next day or two. She had to have something to tell them. Carla hadn't intended to let them know too much, too soon, but now...Well, maybe it was time to move things up a bit. Sullivan could let them know about the real autopsy, that there was a possibility Peck was still alive. But she would have to stress the danger to him if they confronted Stockwell. It was a real danger, after all. And not only to Peck. If they went after Stockwell now, he would know that Carla had been playing fast and loose in her reports to him. And she wasn't yet strong enough to play that hand.  
  
Not yet. But soon.  
  
*****  
  
Kurt was walking back to the car when he saw Daryl arriving. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking their way, he waved him over. It was then he saw the other man, slumped down in the passenger seat.  
  
Daryl pulled up next to Kurt's car and Kurt saw him look at the other man, say something. Kurt couldn't tell if the man answered or not. He stepped up to the driver's door cautiously, looking over at Randy. Randy hadn't noticed anything yet. Daryl rolled down the window.  
  
"Kurt, I'd like you to meet Sam. We need to get him to a hospital stat, but he won't go until he talks to Randy."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I hit him. With the car. It's a long story. Right now, he needs to talk to Randy, privately. Then he's agreed to go to the hospital."  
  
Kurt nodded and hurried to get his passenger. Things were getting stranger and stranger, out of control. He opened the passenger door, startling Randy.  
  
"Easy, kid. Your friend, Sam, is in the other car, with my partner. He's been hurt but he wants to talk to you before he'll go to the doctor."  
  
Randy bolted out of the car, looking wildly around. Kurt directed him to the other car. Daryl was already out, opening his passenger door. As Randy knelt down to talk to Sam, Daryl stepped over to Kurt and gave a quick synopsis of his morning.  
  
A few minutes later, Randy joined them, obviously rattled.  
  
"You gotta take him to the doctor right away. He's hurting really bad. Please. He said he'll go if you guys stick around." He looked at the two men. "He said I wasn't to go anywhere with you except the hospital. So don't try to make me."  
  
"Don't worry, kid. We'll get him to the hospital and Daryl will stay with the two of you. I've got some things to take care of and then I'll join you there." He saw that look of rising panic on Randy's face again. "I promise. I'll come back. Daryl and I are going to help you, both of you."  
  
Making a quick decision, Kurt pulled all their gear from his car and stowed it in Daryl's. He told Daryl he had to make one quick phone call.  
  
"We don't have time to report to her right now, Kurt. Wait till we get to the hospital."  
  
"I'm not calling Carla." Both men were speaking low so they wouldn't be overheard. "I have to call the state patrol."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Hey, I've got our fake cop on ice in the trunk. I can't leave him there but we can't take him with us. He doesn't know about you or your car. It'll dead-end them for a while."  
  
Ten minutes later the four men were racing down the interstate, watching for signs for the nearest hospital.


	21. Chapter 21

Murdock moved quickly through the store. Something had happened. Yesterday Stockwell's goons had suddenly appeared en masse at the compound, searched everywhere. What they were looking for they wouldn't say. Went over the van with a fine tooth comb. Even searched Murdock's car. Then, as suddenly as they appeared, they left, without a word of explanation. BA did a quick search of his own - even more surveillance equipment in place. When Murdock got back to his apartment, it was obvious someone had also searched it, just as thoroughly. He picked up his phone, heard the tell-tale click, knew it was bugged again. Didn't bother to search for bugs in the room, knowing they would be there.  
  
So now he was 'shopping'. Waiting for a chance to lose his tails. He knew he wasn't supposed to have spotted these two. If Stockwell had wanted to intimidate him, they would've just followed him openly. It had happened often enough before. Stockwell's reminders that as long as he was with the team, he was not a free agent. But these guys didn't want to intimidate. They wanted to know where he was going, who he was contacting. Hannibal had been right. Stockwell knew there was a breach in his security. He just didn't know how, or why. And for some reason, something had happened to make him want to find out, now.  
  
Murdock took three pair of pants into the fitting room, locking the door behind him. He'd picked this store deliberately. They had wonderful fitting rooms, built ages ago of real wood, with tall sides, open at the top. Sturdy. Very sturdy. And next to the row of fitting rooms was the men's can. With a nice, old-fashioned style window - big.  
  
Murdock waited a few minutes, gave his followers a chance to settle in. Quietly, then, he stepped up on the small bench seat and pulled himself on top of the enclosure. He'd deliberately taken one several stalls down from the bathroom. That would be his weak spot. Hopefully Stockwell's goons would be too involved watching his stall to see him drop down in front of the bathroom. Hopefully the stalls between him and the bathroom would be empty; there were some things he just didn't need to see.  
  
Lady Luck was with him. He clambered across the last stall unnoticed, and dropped softly to the floor in front of the bathroom. Slipping quickly through the door, he jimmied the lock on the window and was out. Ignoring the strange looks from a couple of sanitation workers in the alley, he hurried off. He had a mission. Today was the day he'd call Maggie.  
  
*****  
  
Sam was fading fast. He no longer felt anything, not even his leg. There was a gray haze over his eyes, like he was caught in an evening fog. He knew the car was moving. This Daryl, whoever the hell he really was, was driving again. The other two were in the back seat. Randy. Randy was one of them. He knew that much. He couldn't remember the other one.  
  
He tried to remember what Randy had told him. Somehow he thought these two guys were Sam's friends, helping them escape. He hadn't been able to digest that properly. Still too hard to think. So he'd gone along with it, for now. Told Randy it was okay. Just not to go anywhere with them again. Not without Sam there. For whatever reason, these two seemed to want to help them. At least, they didn't want Barish to get to them. S'okay...he'd go see the doc...get some painkillers...some bandages...get the hell out...take...Randy...  
  
Daryl saw Sam's head tilt, his hand relax on the gun. Quietly, he reached over and gently drew it from Sam's fingers and tucked it under his seat. Drove on, rapidly, following the signs for the hospital.  
  
*****  
  
Randy sat in back, with Kurt. He worried. Sam looked so bad. Randy shouldn't have left him. Sam wouldn't have gotten hurt if Randy hadn't left. No one had told him what happened, but it didn't matter. What mattered was Sam was dying. Kurt kept telling him Sam would be okay, they just needed to get him to the hospital and he would be okay. But Randy knew Sam was dying.  
  
He glanced over at Kurt. He was watching Sam, and looked worried, too. Randy was glad Sam had him for a friend. Although he wasn't sure why they hadn't met before this. Usually, it was Sam meeting Randy's new friends, not the other way around. Sam didn't make friends. He just hung around with Randy. So where Sam had met Kurt, Randy wasn't sure. He was just glad that he had.  
  
When Randy had pulled over for the cop, and seen the other car run it off the road, he'd been really, really scared. He'd never seen anything like that before. He'd watched in the rearview mirror as Kurt had gone running up to the cop, and then hit him. With his gun. And then come up to Randy. He should have taken off. He shouldn't have stayed there, waiting for Kurt to come up and hit him with the gun. But he couldn't move. It was like he was frozen. When Kurt got to his window, he tried to act like Sam. Sam would have kept his cool. Sam would have bluffed his way out of this.  
  
Randy had listened to everything Kurt had said, knowing that he had that gun. Tried to think, to figure out if Kurt was for real. It wasn't until Kurt mentioned the pills that Randy knew. Sam wouldn't have told anyone about those unless he trusted them.  
  
Randy had still thought about that gun, but if Sam trusted him, Randy would do what he said. He'd watched the highway, looking for other patrol cars, wondering how long before Sam caught up with them. Listened to Kurt talk on that radio, getting no response. The further they got from Sam's car, the more he had worried. Things were all wrong. He had nothing of him left now. It was all back at the camp, or left in the car. All he'd had was Kurt. And it had scared him that Kurt might go away, too. That he'd leave before Sam found him again.  
  
He looked at the front seat. Saw Sam's head slide down. The other guy, Kurt's partner, reached over and took something from Sam. Randy didn't pay attention to what it was. He just kept looking at Sam, slumped over in the seat, not moving. He didn't want Sam to die. He wanted things to be the way they used to be. He didn't want Kurt and his friend there. He didn't want to be left with them if Sam died. He would do anything if Sam would just not die.  
  
He would even give up the ocean.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock had grabbed a cab a few blocks from the store and taken it to a motel across town. Maybe he was being extreme, but he wanted to be sure he was out of Stockwell's sphere. He wanted total privacy, and no interruptions. Sitting on the bed, he dialed Maggie's number and waited, twisting the phone cord nervously. She didn't answer right away, and Murdock was afraid she wasn't even home.  
  
"Dr. Sullivan. May I help you?"  
  
"Maggie! It's Murdock. Can you talk?"  
  
"Oh, Murdock, yeh, just a moment." He was put on hold, the strains of Mozart coming over the phone. It was not soothing. Maggie finally came back on. "Sorry, Murdock, I had a patient."  
  
"What did you find out? Did you get the right report? What happened?"  
  
"Murdock, please, one thing at a time." He could almost hear Maggie take a deep breath before she continued. "I did get the right report this time. But it's complicated, Murdock. So I want you to just listen, okay? No questions until I've finished."  
  
That didn't sound good, but Murdock agreed. "Go ahead, Maggie."  
  
"Alright. I'm not sure where to start. I received the autopsy report, and pictures of...the body. Murdock, the person they did the autopsy on was not Face. The doctors were told it was him, but it wasn't. The body was picked up at the warehouse by the coroner who actually did the autopsy, so sometime between the fake execution and the team waking up, the bodies were switched. I have a contact out there who's working on getting more information, but it wasn't Face at the warehouse at all. I don't know if he really is dead, quite frankly."  
  
Murdock sat silently, his mind a complete blank. He wasn't taking this in at all. This wasn't right. No, this wasn't...Hannibal had seen the body. He had seen Face, dead.  
  
As if reading his mind, Maggie continued. "I know what John thought he saw, Murdock, but the way he described the condition of the body just doesn't add up with a death only a few hours old. And he was still pretty drugged up. I think someone went to a lot of trouble to make him think it was Face."  
  
"Stockwell?"  
  
Tread lightly, Maggie. Remember Carla's warnings.  
  
"I don't know, Murdock. He had to be involved in some way with the switching of the body, but my contact couldn't verify that any of this was his idea. He may have been as much a pawn as the rest of you."  
  
Murdock scowled. Fat chance. "Just who is this contact of yours, Maggie? How do you know you can trust him?"  
  
"Please don't ask, Murdock. I can't risk messing it up. But we have to trust in this, okay? It's all we've got, tenuous as it is."  
  
"I know, I know. I just don't like it. Not one damn bit."  
  
"Listen, Murdock, I know this is a shock, and I can only imagine what you're feeling right now, but you have to take it easy. Whether or not Stockwell is involved, or to what degree, you can't go off half-cocked. First, because I don't know with certainty that Face is still alive. Second, someone has gone to a lot of trouble to get him away from you, alive or dead. My contact had the distinct impression that, if he was still alive, he wouldn't be for long if the team found out about this charade. So, for his sake, if he is alive, you cannot let anyone know what you've found out. Which means you cannot, I repeat, you cannot confront Stockwell. Or do anything else to tip your hand. Do you understand, Murdock?"  
  
"Why did they do this, Maggie? Whoever 'they' may be..."  
  
"I don't know, Murdock. I'm trying to find out, but my contact can only do so much at a time without raising suspicions."  
  
"Okay, okay. I just, it's hard to take this all in, y'know?"  
  
"Just promise me, Murdock, that none of you will do anything right now. Wait until I see what more I can find out."  
  
"I promise, Maggie. If he is alive, there's no way we'll do anything to screw things up. No way."  
  
He arranged to call Maggie back in a week, and hung up. His mind was all over the place. He had to get back to the compound and tell the others. But not yet. He had to settle down first. He had to be calm, or he wouldn't be able to control the others. He could imagine how they would react. It would not be pretty. And they would have to be so careful, with all the extra surveillance. Who knew if they'd found everything?  
  
Murdock made himself lay down on the bed; took deep, long breaths. He had to be calm. He had to be in control. For Face.


	22. Chapter 22

"Were you aware that Captain Murdock disappeared this morning? Right under the noses of two of my best men."  
  
"I wasn't aware Murdock had to 'disappear', General. He was under special surveillance?" Warning bells were ringing in her ears.  
  
"Yes, he was. Did you read the latest report from our friends? Concerning our little joint venture? Seems Peck and his friend were spotted in Colorado. However, before they could be collected, someone interfered and they escaped again. No one seems to know who these people were, or why they interfered, or how they even knew enough to interfere. Considering those 'rumors', I thought it best to check things out for myself. The entire compound was thoroughly searched, including vehicles, and a tail put on the captain." Stockwell swiveled in his chair to look out the window. "Of all of them, it would be Murdock who would be most able to arrange something like this. We had hoped to find out who he was in contact with. That didn't work out."  
  
"Sir, I thought we had dismissed the rumors as just that - rumors. I found nothing to substantiate a real security problem."  
  
"I don't doubt that, Carla. I read your report and, at that time, you were correct in dismissing them. However, we now have something more concrete to work with." He handed her several sheets of paper. "These are the reports from Barish, with further details on the escape yesterday. One of Barish's people posed as a highway patrol officer. He was about to pick up our friends when the interference occurred. Barish's man ended up locked in the trunk of the rental car that drove him off the road. We have the rental car now, going over it for prints. I doubt tracing the rental itself will do any good; whoever had it is a pro. And very good at what they do. Very good." Stockwell gave Carla a speculative look. "Barish's people could rival our own, Carla. I'm very interested in finding out who these 'rescuers' are. And who they're working for. Aren't you, Carla?"  
  
"Very much so, sir."  
  
Stockwell continued looking at her. "Hmm. Very well, Carla. Your copy of these latest reports should be on your desk by now. Look them over carefully. I'm putting you in charge of this investigation. You'll report to me and also Dr. Barish. I want to know who these people are and if they have any connection to Smith et al. And soon."  
  
"Yessir." Carla walked swiftly from the office. The situation was not impossible. Just damn close to it.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock arrived back at the compound in a cab. He saw the two Ables who had been following him almost immediately and gave them a jaunty wave and big grin. No way was he going to give any indication of what he'd been doing. As far as they were concerned, it had been a big game for the pilot, a big joke, just to see if he could skip out on them.  
  
"Better luck next time, guys!" He bounced past them, giggling. Once inside, his demeanor changed, although, for the sake of any cameras, not much. The guys, sitting around the living room waiting for him, immediately understood.  
  
"Beat 'em again, eh, Murdock?" Hannibal flashed him a big, fake grin.  
  
"Sure did, Colonel. One day they'll learn." Murdock put one finger by his eye, raised an eyebrow. Hannibal nodded and headed toward the bedrooms. Murdock followed, knowing the Colonel was headed for whatever room BA had thoroughly cleared of cameras and microphones. BA and Frankie went about their business, supposedly ignoring the other two.  
  
Ironically, they went into the only bedroom that had never been used. Murdock looked around it for a few moments while Hannibal carefully closed the door behind them and stood, waiting. The pilot could picture the room the way Face would have had it. Could see his clothes in the closet, his few personal effects on the dresser. Could almost smell his cologne. Shit. Get it together. You have to deal with Hannibal now. And it ain't gonna be easy for either of us.  
  
"Well, Captain?" Hannibal was not patient.  
  
"Colonel, the first thing you gotta understand is that we can't do anything right now, okay? I know that doesn't make sense right off, but just remember it."  
  
Hannibal was totally out in left field now, but he nodded. Whatever Murdock had to tell him, he understood he had to stay calm.  
  
"Maggie found out quite a bit more, Colonel. And it's a lot more complicated than we thought. Hannibal," Murdock looked him right in the eye, "there's a chance Face is alive."  
  
Whatever Hannibal had been expecting, it wasn't that. He stared at Murdock, denial clear on his face.  
  
"I know, Hannibal, I know. But Maggie said the body couldn't be like you said it was, not that soon after death. And you know you were still pretty out of it when you saw it. Maggie got pictures of the person they took from the warehouse and did the autopsy on. It wasn't Face, Hannibal. They made this body look like Face, but it wasn't."  
  
Hannibal stepped slowly over to the window, putting his hand on the sill as if for support. He hung his head, trying to clear his mind. Face alive? After all these months of grieving and heartache, Face, alive?  
  
"Stockwell?" It was a whisper. A dangerous whisper.  
  
"Maggie didn't know for sure. Most likely, he had something to do with the switch. Whatever else he was involved in, she doesn't know - yet. But, Hannibal," Murdock reached over, grabbed his arm tightly, "we cannot do anything about it now. Maggie said if Stockwell was involved, and he finds out we know anything at all about this whole mess, Face could end up dead for real. We can't do anything, Colonel. We can't show our hand. Not yet. Understand?"  
  
Hannibal paced the room. It was hard. It was so hard not to storm out of the room and yell into all the cameras and microphones for Stockwell to get his ass out there. Hannibal thought back to the General's Oscar-winning performance after the executions. So sympathetic. He could feel himself shaking with unadulterated hatred. He wanted so badly to have the General's neck in his hands. But he understood what Murdock was saying. Even if there were only a chance that Face was alive, Hannibal would not do anything that might put him in danger. He forced himself to stand perfectly still for several moments, once again bracing against the window sill, gathering himself together. He took a deep breath, finally, and straightened. He abruptly pulled out a cigar. Lit it, took a couple of short, sharp puffs. He looked at Murdock, and the pilot could see the anger still in his eyes, barely controlled, but controlled.  
  
"Okay, Murdock. Let's bring BA and Frankie in here and tell them. And then I want all the details."  
  
Murdock nodded. It wasn't over yet, but the biggest hurdle was crossed.  
  
*****  
  
Randy lay across the couch in the waiting room, staring at the ceiling. He was trying to count the little dots in the ceiling tiles. There were so many. Too many. He kept losing his place and having to start over. But start over he did. Over and over and over. As long as he kept counting, he didn't think about anything else going on around him. He didn't have to think about Sam.  
  
When they first arrived at the hospital, Randy had watched in horror as the attendants had carefully pulled Sam's limp body from the front seat and placed him on the gurney. He'd grabbed Sam's hand and wouldn't let go. Kurt and Daryl had had to pry his fingers away when Sam was taken into the examining room. In less than twenty minutes the gurney was disappearing down the hallway, into the elevator, taking Sam into surgery. A doctor had come out and talked to them, telling them what they had found. There was no way Randy understood all the medical terms. After the doctor left, Kurt made Randy sit down and tried to explain things to him.  
  
Randy finally learned that Sam had been hit by a car, although he wasn't told who had hit him. Kurt explained that, in the impact, he'd hit his head and 'bruised' his brain. It made Randy wince just to think about it. So the doctors had to watch him very carefully. There might be brain damage because of it. He'd also dislocated his hip. The doctors didn't like that very much, either. Something about a 'time frame' and blood flow to his leg. It sounded bad. There was more, too; 'internal injuries', which Kurt said meant a lot of things inside had been damaged. Sam was going to be in the hospital for some time.  
  
But he would live. The doctors said he would live. If there were no complications. Randy didn't pay much attention to the rest of what Kurt said. All he knew was that Sam might not be exactly like he was before, but he wasn't going to die. Sam wasn't going to leave him.  
  
And he would not leave Sam. Not ever again.


	23. Chapter 23

Kurt watched as Randy paced the waiting room. Again. The man could not settle down. First he'd stretch out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. That would last maybe five, ten minutes. Then he'd be pacing again. Kurt was getting concerned now, as the periods on the couch were getting shorter, the pacing more frantic. Almost aggressive. He looked over at Daryl, who was also watching Randy. Their eyes met and Kurt saw that his partner was getting just as concerned.  
  
Without a word, Daryl suddenly stood and hurried to the nurse's station. Kurt watched curiously as he talked with the nurse there, and then with another nurse. The second nurse left, returning a few minutes later to talk further with Daryl. She showed him something in her hand. Daryl looked, nodded his head, pointed at Randy. She also looked at Randy, doubt clearly showing on her face. Another consultation with Daryl, and she turned over whatever it was in her hand.  
  
Daryl came over to where Kurt was sitting. He had a pill bottle in his hand.  
  
"Sam mentioned these several times before he started fading out. Had them in his pocket. Said it was important Randy got them. I doubt he'd take them from me."  
  
Kurt looked at the bottle. At the label. Frowned. A prescription-strength aspirin? What the hell was so important about aspirin?  
  
"One of the first things Sam wanted to know was if we were working for a Dr. Barish. Then he's worried about Randy getting these pills, this 'aspirin'. Carla wanting to make sure these guys aren't interfered with. This isn't just a simple surveillance, Kurt. Damn it, I think we've gotten in deeper than we thought. A hell of a lot deeper than we should have."  
  
Kurt nodded. He could hear the heavy-duty worry in Daryl's voice. He knew the feeling. Oh boy, did he know the feeling. This whole thing was so out of control. He was going to have to talk to Carla. Like it or not, she had to give them more information, so they'd know what to do. Kurt was into surveillance. This was way too 'cloak and dagger' for him. Way too much.  
  
Sighing, he shook out one of the 'aspirin' and walked over to Randy. One thing at a time...  
  
*****  
  
For a few moments, he was afraid they were going to lose everything, but BA had reacted predictably. Hannibal had been waiting for the outburst and wasn't disappointed.  
  
BA stood perfectly still for maybe five seconds before putting his fist through the wall. And then the other fist. Then Hannibal and Murdock were both grabbing him, holding onto him as best they could as he almost literally wrestled with the information. If BA heard what they were saying to him, he didn't acknowledge it. He moved around the room like a caged lion that had finally had enough of its confines, swinging the men holding him as if they were feathers. Had it not been for the circumstances, it would have been comical. Finally, he stood still, kneading one big set of knuckles into the palm of the other hand. Murdock and Hannibal slowly released their grip on him.  
  
"BA? You okay now?" Hannibal was staying as calm and commander-like as he could. Still feeling his own anger and frustrations, he didn't want to contemplate what was going on in his sergeant's mind.  
  
"He's dead, Hannibal. Stockwell is dead!"  
  
"BA!" Distraught as he was, Hannibal was not about to let this get out of hand. Now, more than ever, he had to keep his men together in a disciplined unit. "We're not even going there, BA. Not now, not ever. That's not what we do. What we are going to do is keep our shit together, keep doing what we've been doing, and not give Stockwell any indication whatsoever that we know about Face. Understood, Sergeant?"  
  
The look BA shot Hannibal actually made him step back. He had never seen BA so full of hatred before. Not even in the camps. And then the look was gone, replaced by BA's normal scowl.  
  
"You know I wouldn't do nothin to hurt Face, Hannibal. I'll do whatever it takes."  
  
The tension in the room loosened considerably. Hannibal had no doubt the Ables surrounding them would have some unpleasant encounters with the man over the next days, but he knew BA would keep it within bounds. He turned to Frankie.  
  
Throughout the entire episode with BA, Frankie had not moved, hadn't said a word. Again, Hannibal was struck by the difference between Frankie and Face. His lieutenant would have been right there with him and Murdock, trying to control BA. Granted, he most likely would have kept his distance from those muscular arms, but he would've had that golden tongue working a mile a minute. Hannibal sighed. At least now he could start thinking of getting his man back.  
  
"Frankie? How are you doing?"  
  
"How am I doing? How am I doing!" Frankie's angry shout brought them all up short. "I've been going through hell with you guys for how many fuckin months for nothing! That's how I'm doing! Turning inside out tryin to please you guys, makin myself into your precious Face, and now you're gonna go get him back and forget Frankie, forget what I've done for you, forget the friggin obstacle courses and fuckin acting lessons and getting fuckin shot at - for NOTHING!"  
  
"Frankie, it wasn't for nothing. We had to teach you how to survive - that was our only concern. You didn't have the training we all had, and it was dangerous for everyone, especially you."  
  
"That's bull, Johnnie. You guys never wanted me here from the start. You made that clear as a bell. No matter what I did, it wasn't good enough for you."  
  
"That ain't true, Frankie. You had to learn, just like we did. Only thing, you had to learn it quicker."  
  
"I don't need training in explosives, BA. I could teach all of you a thing or two, y'know. But that wasn't good enough either."  
  
"It was never a matter of being good enough, Frank. Damn it, it was for your own good..."  
  
"Yeh, Frankie, just settle down, okay?" Murdock moved toward him. "We gotta stick together..."  
  
"Stick together? Are you nuts? All you wanted was Face. Face! God, I'm so sick of hearing how great Face was, how Face could scam anything, how Face could charm anyone, how Face wouldn't'a done that, how Face wouldn't'a screwed up this. I'm sick to death of hearing about that fucking conman! You can have him, man!"  
  
No one saw BA move at all. The only thing they saw was a big, black fist slamming into Frankie's jaw, knocking the smaller man back against the wall, where he slowly slid down to the floor. Hannibal and Murdock looked at BA, not sure if they should applaud or laugh.  
  
"He'll toe the mark, Hannibal. Count on it." BA shook himself. No way that little bastard was going to screw things up.  
  
*****  
  
Carla was on the phone with Kurt. She was not happy; Kurt couldn't blame her, really. He knew there had been nothing else they could have done, but nothing was going the way it should have.  
  
"You have to get him out of there, now. Before the doctors can contact the authorities."  
  
"Ma'am, he's still in surgery. There's just no way we can move him out of here for at least a day or two."  
  
"Not good enough. We cannot allow the locals to get involved in this. There's too much at stake."  
  
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we really need more information here. We're working blind."  
  
"You'll just have to continue working blind for now. We have a secure facility just outside Dinosaur. It's not that far. I'll make those arrangements; you find some way to get him there. I want the four of you out of that hospital before anyone can ask questions. Understood?"  
  
Kurt sighed. "Yes, ma'am. I'll take care of it."  
  
Dinosaur. Wonderful. The organization kept four such facilities in the US. Secure medical facilities for special 'clients'. Information on these clients was strictly on a need-to-know basis. Whoever made the arrangements for the client's safekeeping determined who needed to know. The four men would basically disappear once they arrived. The equivalent of maximum lockdown. Kurt had been in the one on the east coast early on in his career, watching over a 'gentleman' from Nicaragua. It had not been pleasant.  
  
Well, he couldn't stand there bemoaning things. He had to get an ambulance set up, and figure out how the hell he was going to safely spirit Sam out of here under the noses of the doctors. Not to mention get Randy out without causing a scene. Shit.  
  
Maybe it was time to get out of this business...


	24. Chapter 24

"Randy, we have a little problem. We're going to have to get away from here, very soon."  
  
"I'm not leaving. I gotta stay with Sam."  
  
"Don't worry about Sam, Randy. We're taking him with us. But we have to move as soon as possible after he comes out of surgery, before those people who are after you two find us." Kurt sighed and mumbled to himself, "I just have to find an ambulance that'll take him without waiting for the doctor to okay it, that's all."  
  
Randy looked at him. Kurt could almost see the wheels turning in the man's head. "You mean, we gotta sneak Sam out of here?"  
  
"Yeh, Randy. Unfortunately. There's no way the doctors are going to let him go just on our say-so."  
  
"Okay. Let me think." Randy moved over to the window, overlooking the emergency entrance. He frowned in concentration. Kurt stared at him. The man was serious. Shaking his head, he moved over to the bank of phones and started looking through the phone book. Before he could dial, he was tapped on the shoulder. Randy was right behind him.  
  
"Follow me."  
  
Kurt gaped at the figure moving purposely down the hall. Sharing a look with Daryl, he followed.  
  
Randy stopped once, at the door to the employee locker room. Signaling to Kurt to keep watch, he pulled a small piece of wire from his pocket. Kurt looked at him, questioning. Randy smiled sheepishly back.  
  
"One of their pictures is hanging a little loose." Bending down to the lock, he quickly inserted the wire and wiggled it around. He had to work at it for a moment before there was a satisfying click and the door swung open. Randy quickly disappeared inside. Before Kurt had a chance to get nervous, he was back out, a slight bulge under his jacket.  
  
"Okay. Let's go." He was once again on his way down the hall, Kurt following. He had no chance to ask where the hell Randy had learned to pick locks.  
  
They stopped finally just outside the emergency room entrance. They could see a parking area outside, three ambulances facing the street. All were unoccupied.  
  
"I've been watching them all day. There's always at least one parked here." Randy turned, nodded to his left. "The surgical unit is down that way. They come right by here on their way from the surgery to the elevators." He looked at Kurt, a strange grin on his face. "Nothing to it."  
  
"Are you nuts?" Kurt spoke as quietly as he could, but the incredulity was obvious in his voice. "We can't hijack a patient like that!"  
  
Randy glared at him. "You got a better idea?"  
  
"Well, no, but..."  
  
"Then be quiet and do what I tell you to. You tell the nurse you want to know as soon as the surgery's over - not when they've got him in recovery but when they actually finish the operation. Then you and Daryl make sure you're right here when they come out. Flash those guns of yours and they'll back off quick. Then straight out the door into the ambulance - I'll pull up front as soon as I see you through the windows there. We load him in and take off."  
  
"Sounds easy, Randy. But..."  
  
"But nothing. Where did you plan to go?"  
  
"Uh, we've got a place about 70 miles from here. It's safe, believe me."  
  
"Okay. Bring the doc with you then. We'll let him off just before we get there."  
  
"We can't kidnap a doctor!"  
  
"And we can't haul Sam out of here without someone who knows how to take care of him, either."  
  
Randy had a point. Damn. Shaking his head, Kurt finally gave up. Things had gone so far into the crapper, what was a little kidnapping thrown in?  
  
Randy grinned that strange grin once more, clapping Kurt on the back as he headed back to the waiting room. Kurt wandered along behind. The change in this guy over a few hours was unbelievable. Whatever the hell was in those pills of his, Kurt wished he had some.  
  
*****  
  
Carla had read over all of the reports from Barish. She had to admit, her men had done well, under the circumstances. She'd also received the results of the vehicle search - there, too, her men had done everything the way they should have. Not a single fingerprint had been found, inside or out. Barish's man had not seen the second car, Daryl's. They were successfully stymied at this point.  
  
The problem was, of course, that they did have a starting point to begin their search anew. They would start with truck stops, gas stations, restaurants. They would also be checking police and hospital reports for anything unusual. It wouldn't take long for them to find out about Sam.  
  
Carla had already called their facility outside Dinosaur. Everything was arranged. For once, she was glad Stockwell demanded an almost robot-like compliance to the rules from his subordinates. When she put herself down as the only one to notify on the 'client's' progress, no one had said a word. Granted, it may not last long, but hopefully long enough.  
  
There remained only one problem in that arena. The medications. By her reckoning, they had less than half of their supply left. She had no idea what they were, and there was only one place to get them - Barish. There had been a note - she'd almost missed it. They had changed the composition of the pills somewhat. Concern expressed at not being able to monitor that situation. She didn't know what might happen with that, either, or what would happen if he ran out. She didn't want to have to deal with that on top of everything else. She would have to think about it. She may have to force a meeting with Barish. Later, though. Not just yet.  
  
For now, she had to decide what to do about the investigation. Despite his words, she knew Stockwell was suspicious of her. It wouldn't surprise her to find that he had a second investigation going. She sighed heavily. If she were conducting a real investigation, her first step would be to tap the phones of all the people closest to the team. Which included Maggie Sullivan.  
  
Well, she would have to make a call herself before that phone was tapped. Forewarned is forearmed, after all...  
  
*****  
  
Randy had made a couple forays out to the ambulance bay, no one noticing anything unusual in the ambulance attendant cleaning up. An 'out of service' card placed in the front window, cleaning supplies left sitting out, obvious. Daryl had moved the rental car close by, and surreptitiously moved their meager belongings into the ambulance. The rental had then been moved several blocks away, and cleaned thoroughly. When it was found, it would be exactly what it was, an abandoned rental, and nothing more. They were ready.  
  
Sam came out of surgery in the late afternoon. Almost seven hours after going in. The diversion had not gone without a hitch - they hadn't counted on the security guard trying to stop them - but they had gotten away. The guard would have a pretty good headache for a while, but at least he was still breathing. Had Randy had his way, that might not have happened. Only the sharp reminder that they needed to get Sam out had stopped him.  
  
The energy Randy had exhibited earlier in the day had evolved into almost pure aggression. Kurt wondered how long the effects would last. He remembered the night before. The strain that had been apparent between the men at the camp. And that precipitous flight. This man, driving the ambulance, who had struck down the guard from behind and wanted to keep striking, must have been the man who snuck out of the camp the day before. The man who made decisions and then stuck to them, regardless. The man who would let no one interfere with those decisions.  
  
Had it been the shock of the attack on the fake cop that had crumbled that resolve? Or had Kurt - and the cop - merely been lucky? Had they reached Randy as the medications were wearing down? If the attempt to stop Randy had occurred earlier, would the outcome have been the same? Or would the cop have ended up...badly? Would Kurt have been able to just walk up to Randy and take charge? Or would he be laying by the side of the road?  
  
Kurt looked at Daryl. Daryl was keeping an eye on a very nervous - and angry - doctor. The partners exchanged quick glances. Kurt liked working with Daryl. They knew each other's moves, thoughts, patterns. That's how Kurt knew that Daryl was having the same thoughts, the same doubts, that he was having. Kurt acknowledged that he felt better knowing it would be two against one, if it came down to that.  
  
When it came down to that.


	25. Chapter 25

Randy didn't like this place. At all. The patients' rooms were nice enough, but the place was hidden away in the middle of nowhere, and the gates were locked securely behind them. He didn't like being locked in. Locked in with guards. Oh, sure, they wore suits. But they were guards, all the same. Randy didn't like that. At all.  
  
Sam had stayed under all the way to this new hospital. They'd let the doctor off about 10 miles from Dinosaur, after making sure he'd written down all the medical information Sam's new doctors would need. Sam was now 'resting comfortably' in his room. Kurt, Daryl and Randy had been ensconced in a small suite down the hall. Randy didn't like that, either. He was too far away from Sam to keep an eye on him. And he did not want to be sharing a place with these other two guys. He'd seen them exchanging glances and signals all the way here. And Kurt had kept his pills. Well, that would change. Very soon. He'd play along with these doctors, make sure Sam was well taken care of. As soon as he was well enough, the two of them would part company with Kurt and Daryl and this...place.  
  
Randy was sitting in the living room of their suite, watching television. Or appearing to. He was watching Kurt and Daryl more. He knew they didn't like the situation any better than he did, but for different reasons. He'd really like to know what those reasons were. And he'd like to know who they were working for. Whoever it was, they didn't want whoever was running this joint to know it. Otherwise Kurt or Daryl would've been on the phone first thing. And they had certainly buttoned up when they got in here. Wouldn't even talk to Randy. The doctors weren't talking to any of them. That would also change. They'd talk to him. One way or the other.  
  
Kurt and Daryl eventually wandered into their respective bedrooms and hit the sack for the night. Randy waited until he was sure they were asleep and then checked the rest of the suite thoroughly. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he found a few little electronic gizmos that he didn't think really belonged here. Not anywhere he was, at any rate. They flushed nicely down the toilet. He grinned. Be interesting to know what the people on the other end thought of that noise.  
  
Still grinning, he moved toward Kurt's room. Time to reclaim his little pill bottle.  
  
*****  
  
Stockwell smiled, well satisfied. This job had come just at the right time. It would safely get Smith and the others out of the country for at least a week or more. It would give him time to take care of a few things without worrying about their interference. Not that he worried about it that much. He still didn't know what they knew, what they didn't know. But he was quite sure if they had sufficient facts to be a problem, they would have acted by now. So they were still in the exploratory stage. By the time they got back from this little venture, Barish should have things back under control. They had come very close to collecting them this time; next time they would know what to expect and be ready.  
  
Stockwell's smile faded slightly when he thought about Carla. She was getting just a bit out of hand. Granted, she was a very good player. Just not quite up to his level yet. The problem was that he hadn't quite figured out what her game was yet. He knew she wasn't happy about this arrangement with Barish. He'd worked with her long enough to know her nose was a bit out of joint over the whole matter. He also knew she wouldn't consider pique a justifiable reason to take whatever actions she had. No, there was something else at work there. An attempt to solidify her own position? More than likely. Carla enjoyed her power. Maybe a little too much, but nothing that he couldn't deal with. As long as she didn't cause Barish problems. Barish's organization had its own rules.  
  
They weren't quite as indulgent as he was.  
  
*****  
  
He sat in his room, in the dark. He could hear the others moving about the place, the murmur of their voices, the television playing, a clink of dishes here and there. He'd been listening to it for a long time. Had watched the sunlight fade while listening to it. And all the while, thinking.  
  
Johnnie had come in earlier, to talk things over. Tried to placate him, tried to be calm, but the anger was still there, in his voice. Frankie had kept his temper this time. Hadn't mouthed off about Face again. Had listened, trying to hear the words that meant Johnnie was sorry for what they had done. Never heard them. Not even a hint of it. No, everything was about the team, how it was the team that mattered, the safety of everybody on the team, how they couldn't afford to have division within the team, especially now. Now that they thought Face was alive.  
  
Now they had to pull together and get ready to go and find him. So he could be back where he belonged. So the team could get back to where it belonged. And how Frankie could be a part of all that, if he wanted to be. Because once they were able to go after Face, it would mean the break with Stockwell. And that meant Stockwell was going to be coming after them. All of them. It would be better if Frankie stayed with them. Safer.  
  
Frankie had snorted at that. He couldn't help it. Pointed out that if they just stuck with Stockwell, that would be safer.  
  
Johnnie had just shaken his head. Stockwell would never let them go after Face. And there was no way they would bring Face back to this, not when there was little doubt the General had been involved in the whole disappearance. No, they would break with Stockwell and go get Face. If Frankie wanted in, he was welcome - as long he realized he would have to follow orders, be a real team member. Otherwise, he would be on his own. Johnnie admitted there was a good chance Stockwell would leave Frankie alone; he was more likely to go after the team than one man.  
  
Frankie hadn't agreed to anything. Johnnie had looked at him for a long time before moving to the door. He'd had one last thing to say.  
  
"Just remember, Frankie. If you let the cat out of the bag on this, it's not just Face that'll pay. Everyone will. Including you. It's something to think about."  
  
Johnnie had walked out then. Left Frankie to make his choices. As if he had any. Not when it was put to him the way Johnnie had. He rubbed his swollen jaw. Baracus had been more blunt. Same thing. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. So for now, he would stick with the team. He would keep his mouth shut. For now. But one day...one day he'd find a way to get out of this whole mess. After all, he'd been Stockwell's man before. Nothing said he couldn't be again. If he really wanted to.  
  
*****  
  
He opened his eyes a mere slit, watching the figure moving about the bedroom. Silent. Almost. Like he was just a bit rusty yet. Kurt opened his eyes fully. Didn't turn the light on, didn't sit up. Something told him movement would not be good. Startling this man would not be good. He allowed himself to shift the sheets just a bit. A mild warning.  
  
"Can I help you, Randy?" Softly. Curiosity only. No challenge in the tone.  
  
He stood perfectly still. Good control. Turned to look at the man in the bed. They watched each other for several moments, neither saying anything. School yard bluff? Or just thinking things out?  
  
"I forgot about the pills, Kurt. I like to keep them with me. Didn't want to disturb you. Sorry."  
  
"No problem, Randy. They're here, in the drawer." Keep it casual.  
  
Randy stepped over to the bedside table, pulled out the pill bottle, pocketed it. "Thanks. Sorry I woke you up." Left, as quietly as he'd come in.  
  
Kurt stayed awake for some time after. He had averted a confrontation that would not have ended well. He was sure of that. Glad now that he'd taken the opportunity when he had it. Glad there was one little pill hidden in his overnight bag, just waiting for the lab to check out.


	26. Chapter 26

Randy walked beside his friend, up and down the hall. Over and over. He knew Sam wasn't supposed to overdo, but he had neither the ability nor the desire to dissuade him. Both men wanted out of here. Fast.  
  
Randy was watching Sam closely. He had cornered the head honcho in charge of the case the day after they arrived. He smiled. Literally cornered the guy. He'd gotten a visit from a couple of the security people later that same day, but he didn't care. All that was, was talk. He'd tuned it out. He'd gotten what he wanted. So now he watched to see if Sam was showing any signs of the problems he'd been told about. So far, so good. Even with crutches, Sam favored his right leg; not unreasonable. He wasn't talking much, and seemed somewhat distracted, but nothing that appeared abnormal. Randy would keep an eye on it.  
  
He himself was feeling good. Better than he had in months. It was almost as though he was thriving on the stress. If this continued, he wouldn't need those pills any more. Just as well; he only had about a week's worth left anyway. It didn't worry him. He remembered what he'd been like before, when he'd been at the VA, and in Minneapolis. It was obvious he'd needed something back then. Not now. Now he was feeling...whole. Well, almost. He had noticed a 'slippage' into past behaviors occasionally, usually as it neared the time to take the next pill. But it was only a slippage. He was confident that would be gone by the time he finished with the pills. Just about the time he'd be taking Sam out of here.  
  
They'd talked about that for some time. Always in the hallways, as they walked. Never in their rooms, never when others were around. Sam, of course, couldn't do much, except trade ideas and scenarios with Randy. Reconnaissance was left to Randy. There were some areas he was barred from going; otherwise, he was free to move around the grounds. It had taken him a couple of days to realize that, although security was tight, it was tight from the inside out. Security was not to keep people in. It was to keep people out.  
  
And that made it all easy.  
  
*****  
  
Maggie was still fuming, a week after talking with that Carla woman. They were 'bugging' her phone! Of all the unmitigated gall! Maggie had reminded her of privacy laws, doctor/patient privilege - it hadn't mattered. Oh, she had been assured that it was only for appearances. That Carla's 'people' were only interested in one particular phone call. Which was why Carla was warning her.  
  
"Well, thanks so much. I'm sure my patients will appreciate your concern. Just remember one thing, lady. If I find out that anything on my patients has been recorded, written down or otherwise discussed, I will blow your whole scheme to kingdom come. I draw the line at involving my patients in this. Do we understand each other?"  
  
"Most assuredly, Doctor."  
  
So Carla didn't like the threat. Big Deal.  
  
Well, nothing Maggie could really do about the 'bug' anyway. And no doubt Carla was smirking about that. All she could do was wait for Murdock to call again. She'd have to warn him somehow not to say anything. And figure out how he could contact her without Stockwell's people finding out. Carla had made it clear that she was putting up a front for Stockwell with the bug; it was the only way she could keep things from unraveling. She made a point to remind Maggie that neither of them wanted problems right now. Not until Face was safely with the team again.  
  
Maggie was really beginning to dislike that woman.  
  
*****  
  
Kurt watched the two men walk up and down the halls. He knew they were planning their escape. He'd known that would be coming from the moment they arrived. He and Daryl had been doing their own planning along those lines. Thankfully, Carla had concurred with them. It was clear that, although she had directed them here, she wanted them gone as soon as possible. Kurt wasn't sure what Carla had going, but he'd realized, possibly too late, that she was in some kind of power play with Stockwell. Dupes or not, it would not bode well for him or Daryl should Stockwell win. It had been simply another assignment. Now, Kurt felt he and Daryl had a vested interest in Carla's success. And that meant Randy and Sam's success.  
  
Kurt stepped back into the suite. Daryl was re-reading the report they had gotten back from the lab. A copy had already been sent to Carla. Kurt had glanced at it. His background wasn't medicine, or even science, and it made no sense to him whatever. Daryl, however, had seemed fascinated by it. Much as one was fascinated watching a spider devour its prey.  
  
Kurt wandered over to the windows, checking once again the huge landscaped courtyard in front of them. Out of habit, he checked the rooftops, the myriad doorways, the drive which disappeared between two buildings and led to the fortified front gate. Whoever was in charge of security was smart. There was no set schedule for the rotation of the guards, no set pattern for patrol. It seemed to be some kind of zone defense. And yes, it was defensive. The guards did not seem that concerned about the inmates.  
  
Kurt wondered if Randy had realized that yet.  
  
*****  
  
Sam had started palming the painkillers yesterday. He'd spent enough time in La-La-Land already. It made the walks with Randy just less than unbearable, but he'd live. The important thing was to get his head on straight and get the hell out of here.  
  
He watched the man walking next to him. He knew Randy was watching right back. Ironic. He knew they were both worried about the same thing - that the other wasn't acting like he should. At least Sam knew where his deficits were. He could compensate; God knew he'd done that enough over the years. No, he knew what he needed to do to stay on track. It was Randy he didn't know about.  
  
There was something about this 'new' guy. He'd caught a glimpse of him when they were on the road, and knew it was because of those new pills. He didn't like it. Things had gone too far from the old Randy. Way too far. Granted, the Randy from Minneapolis would have been totally useless here. This guy was more than competent to get them out. Randy had actually laughed when he told Sam about the confrontation with the doctor. There was almost a sparkle in his eye as they discussed various escape plans. In fact, the whole situation seemed almost fun for him. Which made Sam just a bit nervous.  
  
Sam looked around him, at the stiff suited security people seeming to wander about. He knew these types. All business, no imagination. Just follow orders. He may not like all the changes in this new Randy, but he knew very well how to work with him. He smiled. What the hell. Maybe it was time he, too, had a little fun again. It had been a while.


	27. Chapter 27

The private jet glided onto the runway in the early evening. Three men stepped out onto the tarmac, stretching tired muscles, looking around the deserted airfield. Two other men struggled out of the plane, carrying yet another on a stretcher. Hannibal grinned at their mumblings. How many years had they pulled BA out of a plane, grumbling at the weight? Some things never changed.  
  
He glanced over at Murdock and Frankie. Murdock was gently playing an invisible guitar, humming tunelessly along with it. Frankie was just standing there, scowling to rival BA, staring off at the skyline in the distance. Well, each to his own. Everyone had their own way of coping. Or not coping. Hannibal pulled out a cigar, searching for his lighter. Damn. Some things you never got used to.  
  
"Murdock!" The pilot abruptly stopped playing and hurried over.  
  
"Yeh, Hannibal?"  
  
"You calling Maggie tonight?"  
  
"Gonna try to, Colonel. Figure they won't expect me to do anything so soon after getting back. Let 'em think I've sacked out and then take off."  
  
"Good. First thing in the morning then."  
  
"Right. I'll be over, Colonel." Murdock moved off toward the limo, where BA was being loaded in. Frankie hadn't waited for anyone, but stalked over and climbed in, watching silently as the Ables struggled with the big man. Hannibal stood for a last moment, hoping Murdock could connect with Maggie tonight, and hoping she would have something concrete for them. They needed something solid to move on. It was time to quit waiting.  
  
*****  
  
Daryl had read the lab report at least a half-dozen times. He knew what all the ingredients were; it was just hard to put them together in his head. And when he finally had, he wished he hadn't. It was inconceivable to him that any one could be taking this combination of crap and still be upright. Hell, still be breathing. It certainly explained aspects of Randy's behavior. But it also created a hell of a lot of questions about why and who...and what the hell were he and Kurt doing messed up in something like this?  
  
He waited until Randy left to walk with Sam again before talking to Kurt. Then they'd have to get in touch with Carla. Not as easy as it sounded. They weren't supposed to be connected with her at all, and she didn't want any calls from here to her office. Which meant more cloak and dagger shit. He was glad Kurt had gotten that set up. He hated dealing directly with that woman.  
  
Kurt looked at him warily as he sat down on the patio, report in hand. "Let's keep this in English, ok, Daryl?"  
  
"Yeh, well, it's not pretty. That little pill has more drugs meshed together than Eli Lillie. Legal and illegal." Both men kept their voices low.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I don't know how they did it. Barbiturates, amphetamines, antipsychotics, fucking coke even. But it's not just anything thrown together. Like the bennies - they're similar, but each one in there is known for a specific effect as well. Some stuff in there works on impulse control, for instance. Other stuff is amnestic. Other stuff makes you more aggressive. Plus there's a little added something that the lab couldn't figure out - a synthetic of some kind. Maybe something to help synthesize the rest of the shit, maybe to mellow out the combined effects. Who knows?"  
  
"How could they do that? And why, for God's sake?"  
  
Daryl looked at Kurt, worry and anger mixed on his face. "You remember all that talk about Bluebird? Third Choice? MKSEARCH?"  
  
"Aw, no, man, no way...Stockwell couldn't have...I mean, Carla woulda let us know if that..." Kurt's voice trailed off. This was too much. Way, way too much.  
  
"C'mon, Kurt, look at some of the people Stockwell's had us on. Look where he came from, for God's sake. What else makes any sense whatever?" Daryl's voice was rising rapidly.  
  
"Shhh! God, don't forget the bugs, man!" Both men abruptly shut up.  
  
Kurt stood, looked out across the courtyard. If nightmares could come to life, this was it. More so, because they had seen the change right before their very eyes. Bluebird. The grand-daddy of CIA mind control projects. MKSEARCH. He remembered one of the techniques used there. Barbiturates injected into one arm, amphetamines into the other. Pulling information out of the babbling subject. A lot of deaths. Shit. Was this pill a new phase? A whole new project? Shit.  
  
"Kurt?"  
  
"Yeh."  
  
"We can't do this any more, man. I can't."  
  
"I know."  
  
"What's Carla gonna do when she sees that report? Or do you think she already knew?"  
  
"I don't know, Daryl. I don't know." He looked at his partner. "We can't just walk away, you know. We have to take them with us. We have to let them know what's going on."  
  
"I think Sam already knows. He was so insistent about Randy getting his pills on time...but I just don't see him as being one of the bad guys here, Kurt. He just didn't act that way. I mean, it's not like he's concerned about some abstract experiment. More like he knows what could happen if Randy goes off this stuff too suddenly."  
  
"That would be bad?"  
  
"Real bad. I mean, shit, Kurt, he's taking coke along with other stuff almost as bad. Very small doses of each, but still..."  
  
"Yeh, okay. I get the picture. Well, we'll have to give Sam the benefit of the doubt - for now. But we've got to get them out of here. Carla said no one else would know we were here, but we're talking Stockwell. This is his place, for chrissake. The sooner we get out, the better I'll feel. Find some place on our own to lay low and figure out what to do next."  
  
"On our own? You mean, don't let Carla know where we are?"  
  
"Not exactly where we are. I don't care how careful she is. I don't want anyone else involved who doesn't absolutely have to be. Not until we know for sure who's on the side of the angels here."  
  
Daryl didn't like it, but he had to agree. Until they knew who all the players were, and whose side they were on, none of them was safe. And he'd prefer to live to a ripe old age.  
  
*****  
  
It didn't take much to convince the Ables that he'd gone home and gone to bed. He almost didn't wake up in time to make the call. He'd opted to muffle the alarm clock under his side instead of under his pillow. If it hadn't been for the tickling vibration, he never would have awakened. Flying across the Atlantic would do that to you.  
  
With instincts forged on missions with the team, he'd chosen this apartment with a view to escape. Front door, back door, conveniently located windows. He knew they couldn't cover all exits effectively without a noticeable number of people. Noticeable to him, anyway. It was a strange little building. Five floors, all surrounding a small enclosed courtyard. In an effort at individuality, each apartment had a different little jog as they cornered around the courtyard. His, on the second floor, contained a wonderful little window that was absolutely unseen from the street unless you stood at one certain point and leaned to the side. It took him 10 minutes to work his way out the window, down the balcony, and crouch-crawl his way along the row of cars parked on the street below. He scuttled quickly around the first corner and took off running.  
  
He grabbed a cab a few blocks away, and directed them to a shopping mall several miles away. He took several minutes walking around, window-shopping, before approaching the phone booth. One last glance around, then dialed Maggie's number.  
  
She answered almost immediately.  
  
"Hi, Doc, it's..."  
  
"Oh, Mr. Brenner, I'm glad you called. I was afraid you'd wait until office hours tomorrow."  
  
Ok. Trouble.  
  
"Well, you made it sound important."  
  
"Well, it's just that the office is being fumigated over the next few days. Insects, you know. So I thought we should reschedule your appointment. Say, Wednesday? Around 8:00AM?"  
  
"Sure, that would be fine."  
  
"Ok. Great. I can't wait for this fumigation to be done with. I'm having to use Hank's office temporarily. You know where that is?"  
  
"Sure, doc. No problem."  
  
"Ok then, I'll see you Wednesday."  
  
They hung up. Murdock glanced at his watch. Damn, she was good. Well under the time needed for anyone to trace the call. So Stockwell was tapping her phone. Were they really that close, or was she just one of many?  
  
It was early Tuesday morning. He had to wait until Wednesday to call her back at the sheriff's office. Hannibal would not like this. Not one little bit.  
  
He made his way back to the apartment, sneaking back through his little window just as the sun was peaking over the horizon. Great. He'd get a couple hours sleep before heading over to the compound. At least he could sack out there for the rest of the day. Maybe.


	28. Chapter 28

"I'm not sure it's such a good idea, ma'am. It could be dangerous. We can certainly help them, but still..."  
  
"I can't have them there forever. The sooner they're gone, the better."  
  
"I don't mean to question you, ma'am, but can't you just, well, release them? Officially?"  
  
"It doesn't work that way. Stockwell built in a failsafe, to make sure there wouldn't be any 'private arrangements' between clients and personnel. The doctors have to sign off before a release can be issued to security. If a release is issued before that, the upper security division is automatically notified. Which means an investigation. Something we definitely don't need."  
  
"No, ma'am. But surely an escape..."  
  
"If this were a prison situation, it would be disastrous. But this is a different ballgame. To the people actually involved, it can be anything from an inconvenience to a political disaster. But to the facility personnel, an escape is an embarrassment, and definitely not good for the career of the head of facility security. I know the man. He's smart, cool-thinking, and ambitious. When they escape, the first thing he'll do - after initiating a search - is contact me. As the 'principal', it's up to me to decide how far to take it. And I'm going to tell him it would be better for both our careers if this little episode just 'disappeared'. By the end of the day, there'll be no record left that any of you were even there."  
  
Kurt sighed. He had to remember Carla was a game player. They all were at that level. Far above the trenches. They made their political moves and the minions had to deal with all the repercussions. In this case, making sure they lived through the escape.  
  
"Very well, ma'am." He had a feeling he now knew what her next reaction would be. "Uh, there's one other problem."  
  
Carla sighed. What else was new? This whole damn enterprise was nothing but problems.  
  
"What now?"  
  
"The, uh, pills for Randy, ma'am. He's only got a few days worth, and I have no idea how to get more. You saw the lab report. We don't know what that last medication is."  
  
"Well, he'll just have to go without them. From what I read, it's better to get him off them anyway."  
  
"That could be dangerous, ma'am. Those drugs aren't meant to be just stopped like that."  
  
"I'm well aware of that. But we really have no choice, now, do we? You just make sure you're out of there before he runs out. I don't want any more problems on that end. Understand? Get him out of there and keep him away from Barish's people. Anything else that you want to do is your affair. Just make damn sure you keep me informed."  
  
"Yes, ma'am." Kurt hung up, gritting his teeth. At least he knew now where she stood. Randy was merely a commodity to her, something to be used for her purposes. Apparently, it no longer mattered to her if he was alive or dead - as long as neither this Barish nor Stockwell had him. Well, he could certainly see to that. He would make sure Carla didn't have him, either.  
  
Now the immediate problem was the pills. He and Daryl had already discussed the possible problems they would be facing. Correction, that Randy would be facing. Now that no help would be coming from Carla, they would have to approach Sam. He'd been dealing with this thing a hell of a lot longer than they had. Who knows? Maybe they'd get a miracle dropped in their lap.  
  
*****  
  
Carla took a walk around the office complex to clear her head. Randy's health was of little consequence to her now. The experiment had effectively been killed. Barish was finished as far as Stockwell was concerned. The General may be willing to work with various agencies; he was not one to work with individuals in those agencies who couldn't deliver. Barish had gotten sloppy in his surveillance of his people. Too bad. Barish was now just one headache less.  
  
She still had to deal with the investigation for Stockwell. So far her people - rather, Stockwell's - had not reported any suspicious telephone calls. She smiled at that. Sullivan had already contacted her, from the sheriff's office, of all places, and told her that she needed something solid by Wednesday morning. Knowing the team had only arrived back from their little European trip on Monday night, she knew the listeners had missed something. She would have to find out who was on during that interlude. Scapegoats were always good to have handy. In the meantime, she was doing everything she was supposed to. And with the exception of Bad Rock, there was just no discernible connection between the team and the 'rescuers'.  
  
Now she had to decide just where her plan was to go from here. She could count on her two Ables to get Sam and Randy out of Dinosaur. Then what? She knew Kurt was not at all happy with her response to Randy's predicament. She wasn't naive enough to think that neither he nor Daryl had connected the dots to Bluebird. This was the only weakness in her plan. They were never to have gotten that much information. They were never to have gotten directly involved in any of this. They were surveillance. There was a reason for that. Mainly their test scores. Each of them had shown a reluctance to deal with certain scenarios. Their loyalty to the organization had limits. Not enough to wipe them out of the system, but it was there.  
  
So what was she going to do with them once they left the facility? Chances of Barish salvaging the experiment were very slim, considering everything her two people had managed to pull off, as well as Peck & Company. Her need for any of them was definitely nearing an end. There was just one thing left to do - make sure Peck met up with the team again. And, like the others, it made no difference if he were dead or alive. Just so the team found him. That would destroy any connection between the men and Stockwell. A powerful and effective weapon in the General's arsenal. And a great blow to his ego.  
  
So now she could definitely say that, once they left the facility in Dinosaur, the health and well-being of any of the four made no real difference to her. The only thing left now was to punish Stockwell for trying to cut Carla out of the loop. Via the team. And she would make sure he knew she was involved. Nothing he could ever prove, nothing he could come close to proving. But he would know. And that's all she needed. For Stockwell to know that she could be a damaging enemy - but she was choosing to stay on his side. Yes. Her choice.  
  
Sighing with satisfaction, her decisions made, Carla headed back to her office. To let Maggie know where Face was - at least for the time being...  
  
*****  
  
Sam had finally made up his mind. It hadn't been difficult, once he'd realized how long they'd been here, and how low Randy's supply was. His original plans had been to be settled in San Francisco at this point. In a place where he could have Randy safe and secure for the withdrawal. He went along with Randy on the plans for their escape. They would need them in place for afterward. But there was no way they were going to be on the road now. Randy was going to be here, with doctors to help him, when he ran out of those pills. Sam owed him that.  
  
There was a knock at his door. Kurt? Or Daryl? He had a hard time remembering which one was which.  
  
"Sam? If you don't mind, we'd like to discuss some things with you."


	29. Chapter 29

"I don't understand. Why now?"  
  
"Because it suits my purposes, Dr Sullivan. I would think you would be glad. This can be over and done with now."  
  
"It's just very sudden. Before you didn't want the team to know only little tidbits, now you're practically handing him over. You'll forgive me for being suspicious."  
  
"You don't trust me. Fair enough. No reason for you to. If you don't want to tell the team, that's up to you. I'm sure Colonel Smith would understand."  
  
"Oh, don't worry, Carla. I have no intention of not telling them. I'm sure 'Colonel Smith' will look at the information with all appropriate caution. He's not a stupid man."  
  
"No, indeed. He's definitely not stupid. I've never thought that. At any rate, I believe our association is at an end now. There should be no reason for further communication."  
  
"Wait just a minute. You never told me the reason this whole charade."  
  
"Is it really necessary to know that? You have what you really wanted. And much sooner than you expected. Maybe you should count your blessings and let it go."  
  
Maggie would have argued the point, but found herself talking to a dial tone. Damn that woman.  
  
Hank poked his head around the door. "All finished? Was that the call you were waiting for?"  
  
"One of them. Sorry to take up your office space, Hank. I've got one more call coming in a few minutes, and then I'll get out of your hair."  
  
"No problem, Maggie. I just don't like you being involved in all this secret stuff. It just sounds too dangerous. All these strange phone calls, not being able to use your own phone..."  
  
"I know, Hank, but it's okay. It's just about over."  
  
Hank just shook his head and walked away. He'd hoped all the intrigue of Maggie's life would have been over when Smith and the rest had been executed, but it was almost as if they were still wreaking havoc from the grave. Maggie may have enjoyed the drama of having fugitives as frequent guests, but, terrible as it sounded, he had been more than relieved when they were finally captured. Certainly made his life easier. Until now.  
  
*****  
  
"Sam, I know this is going to be hard to accept. But please, just hear us out before making any decisions, okay?"  
  
Sam was already suspicious of these two. They weren't working for Barish; that was a point in their favor. But they had so far refused to name who they were working for, or why they'd been following Sam and Randy. And, to be honest, the fact that Randy had so readily accepted them made him uneasy. These two didn't know Randy like he did, and he didn't want them pushing Randy into decisions he shouldn't be making. But Kurt was right. He couldn't make any decisions until he heard what they had to say. He had to know where they stood. Sam nodded for him to continue.  
  
"Daryl and I were assigned to follow you, that's true. At first, that was all we were supposed to do. Then things changed. We were to make sure you weren't interfered with. Our 'employer' wanted you to get wherever you were going. Only recently we found out that the real objective was keeping you both away from this Dr. Barish. Never, and I'll repeat that, Sam, never were we given instructions to cause either of you harm, or delay you unnecessarily."  
  
Daryl coughed, embarrassed. "Hitting you with the car really was an accident, Sam. I am so sorry for that. I just didn't see you in time."  
  
Sam shrugged his shoulders. He'd never thought it was anything other than an accident.  
  
"Recently, we received some very disturbing news. I, uh, appropriated one of those pills Randy's been taking, and had our lab evaluate it. I don't know if you were aware of the makeup of those pills...?"  
  
"The doctors have been adjusting them over time, based on my reports to them. What the actual medication was, I don't know."  
  
"Well, that's one of the questions we had - what your role in this whole thing was, how much you knew." Kurt sat silently, waiting for Sam to explain.  
  
Sam knew this game - he who stayed silent longest, won. Kurt lost.  
  
"Well, maybe you'll feel like explaining after you've seen the lab report. We brought you a copy. Basically, these doctors have Randy on a kind of cocktail of uppers, downers, and other mood altering drugs."  
  
"Uppers and downers? That doesn't make any sense."  
  
Daryl spoke up, feeling more comfortable in this area. "The various dosages were carefully calibrated, Sam. There was also another substance that we couldn't identify, but I'm speculating it was some kind of synthetic drug, designed to make the others work together more smoothly. Regardless, it's obvious that they were attempting to control the way Randy worked, the way he thought. If we had samples from the earlier dosages, it might be possible to determine exactly what they were trying to do, but right now we can only make an educated guess."  
  
Again, Kurt and Daryl waited for a response from Sam.  
  
"So you know what's in those pills. Now what?"  
  
"We've talked with our boss, and basically, she's cutting out on the whole thing. Apparently she's accomplished whatever the hell she wanted to. Her last instructions to us were to get you two out of here before Randy runs out of those pills. She's afraid if you stay beyond that, it will attract attention, and then the wrong people will find out about you, and she doesn't want that. And if she doesn't want it, it better not happen. Now, we know you and Randy have been doing some planning anyway. So we're offering our help. Any assistance you need from us, you have. And that includes after we get out of here."  
  
Sam stared at them. He felt another headache coming on...  
  
*****  
  
"Hello, Murdock."  
  
"This phone is okay?"  
  
"Definitely. I have news."  
  
"Okay..."  
  
"Face is definitely alive. As of today, he's in a so-called 'secure facility', run by Stockwell's organization, just outside Dinosaur, Colorado. I say as of today because my contact has indicated he will be moved in the next few days, maybe even the next few hours. Where, she doesn't know."  
  
"She?"  
  
"Don't ask, Murdock. Please. We're not out of the woods yet."  
  
"Okay, okay. When you say a 'secure facility', you mean a prison? Or...?"  
  
"My understanding is that it's some kind of hospital, but why he's there I wasn't told. All I know is that he's supposed to be leaving there soon. He will be with three other men, at least at first. One is someone he's been with since the beginning. The other two are actually working for my contact."  
  
"For your contact? Not Stockwell?"  
  
"No. I don't know what's going on, exactly, Murdock. But it sounded very complicated. And dangerous to Face and the others if Stockwell finds out about them."  
  
"Finds out? You mean Stockwell doesn't know where Face is, either?"  
  
"That's my understanding. Look, I don't begin to understand what's going on here, Murdock. I get the impression that my contact has actually been protecting Face, for whatever reason. But she's pulling out - apparently she's accomplished whatever the hell it was she was after. So Face is basically being thrown to the wolves."  
  
"Damn. What about these other guys? Are they pulling out, too?"  
  
"I don't know. Like I said, they'll be with him at first. My contact didn't say for how long. Murdock, that's all I have. I really don't know how much good it is."  
  
"It's enough, Maggie. It gives us a starting place. Which is a hell of a lot more than we had before."  
  
"What are you going to do now, Murdock?"  
  
"What else? We're gonna go get Face."


	30. Chapter 30

"We aren't leaving. No way."  
  
Kurt and Daryl glanced at each other. Whatever they had expected, this wasn't it.  
  
"Sam, I don't think you understand..."  
  
"No, you don't understand. You haven't seen Randy without those pills. Back in Florida, he missed one dose and came damn close to killing me. After hearing what's in these new pills, there is just no way he's going to be anywhere except here when he goes off them. I'm not worried about withdrawal per se. Randy's stronger than he looks. He could get through it. But you don't understand what's going on inside his head. I do. This withdrawal is not going to be just physical. He's not stable without those pills. And it's going to be worse this time. No, he needs to be where there are doctors to help keep him calm and controllable."  
  
"Controllable?"  
  
"Yeh. Controllable." Sam looked hard at the two men. "Look, I know a lot more about Randy and his story than you do. I was in it almost from the start. I know what was done to him, and not just the drugs. The whole experiment was a government project, trying to find a way to neutralize top enemy agents without killing them, in case we needed them. The people doing this, under Dr. Barish, needed to find out what combination of psychology and medications would make them more 'amenable' to working for us, what worked, what didn't, how long it would take, how long it would last.  
  
"Unfortunately for Barish, things got out of hand. Randy started remembering things. Just...glimmers, really. But I didn't tell Barish. If I had, they might have decided to terminate things. Or, they might have adjusted the meds to make sure those glimmers didn't get any clearer. I don't know. I just know I couldn't go any further with the whole damn thing. I had to get us both out of it.  
  
"So we took off. Part of his memory was of the west coast. So that's where we were headed. But the doctors had adjusted his new meds again. Before, he'd been pretty pliant - easy to con, easy to maneuver. But the longer he was on these new pills, the more aggressive he got. And his coping skills were going out the window. Depending on what happened, he'd bounce between this aggressive, suspicious iceman and the man he'd been before - gentle, quiet, dependent. Now, of course, the old Randy is almost completely gone. Instead there's this guy who decides what he wants and goes after it, regardless of who or what gets in his way. I don't think that's what the doctors had in mind, either. They wouldn't be happy with this guy."  
  
"Don't you see, Sam? That's exactly why he can't stay here."  
  
"No, you have to see. Once he's off those pills, God only knows what he's going to do. Past experience tells me his paranoia is going to skyrocket. The potential for violence is astronomical. I don't want him hurt. If he's here, the doctors can sedate him. Controllable, like I said. If we leave, we're on our own. And I don't know if I - or even, if we - could handle him without damage to him or us. He's much better off here. It could take weeks for Barish to find us here, if then."  
  
"Sam, this hospital is part of an organization that does a lot of covert business for the government. I know our boss is trying to keep you out of Barish's hands, but she works for the head honcho. If she's involved with this, he's got to be involved, and that means he's in contact with Barish. He would have to be. And believe me, it's only a matter of time before Stockwell finds out you're here, and then...."  
  
"Stockwell?!"  
  
The shock in Sam's voice took the other men by surprise.  
  
"You know him, Sam?"  
  
"Yeh. And I’ll bet your boss’s name is Carla..."  
  
The look on Kurt and Daryl’s faces said it all. Sam leaned back on the pillow, looking out of his window. He was suddenly tired. So damned tired.  
  
*****  
  
Randy carefully pulled his shirt back on. He looked at the doctor, eyebrows raised.  
  
"So, doc, everything look okay to you?"  
  
"Yes, you did everything you were supposed to, my friend. The movement in that shoulder is almost at the normal range again. Another week and you should be good as gold."  
  
Randy smiled. He'd worked that shoulder until he thought it would kill him, Sam pushing him, never letting him just get by. He was glad Sam had been so tough. He didn't need to be laid up now. Not when they were so close to making their escape.  
  
He grinned at the doctor as he stepped out of the office, receiving a big smile in return. Some of these guys were really cold, but not this guy. He'd seen Randy doing his stretches a couple days ago, had stopped to ask about them. Randy had told him about having been in a 'car accident', and the doctor had really seemed interested in the injury. He'd offered to look at the shoulder, and Randy had been glad to have a professional check on it. It had been purely professional, the doctor only asking the name of his original doctor, and when the accident had occurred. Randy figured these doctors were trained not to ask too many questions of their patients. Which was just as well. He didn't have to make up any stories.  
  
As Randy closed the door behind him and headed for Sam's room, the doctor stopped smiling. He was about to put his career on the line. But if he was right, the reward would be well worth it. He slipped on his jacket and headed for his car. Signing out at the gate, he quickly drove into town and pulled over at the first gas station. Inside, he moved to the pay phone and started dialing.  
  
*****  
  
"BA?"  
  
"All set. Van's ready any time you say the word. Got three different routes, just in case."  
  
"Good. Murdock?"  
  
"Weapons stored away in the van, Colonel, along with munitions. Except for the little surprises under the mattresses. Those are ready whenever you are."  
  
"Good. Frankie?"  
  
They all looked at him. It all depended on Frankie, and he knew it. But this was no scam, it was explosives, and they weren't waiting for him to screw up, they were waiting for him to provide the all important diversion.  
  
When Murdock had come back to the complex, they had all known. It was there in Murdock's eyes, in his step. His whole body was almost humming. The Ables hadn't noticed anything, of course. They were used to dismissing Murdock's 'eccentricities'. But the team, even Frankie, had known. Without a word, they had once again gravitated to the one room that was never successfully bugged. There, Murdock had confirmed what they already thought. Given them all the details he had, scant though they were. It had taken only a few seconds for the decision to be made. The plan came within moments, as it only involved getting away from the complex and Stockwell. Hannibal had turned to Frankie then.  
  
"Frankie, I know you don't want to do this. I know this whole thing has been hell for you, and I am sorry for that, whether you believe it or not. Stockwell threw us together and no one was ready for it. And yeh, we were rough on you. Not because we didn't like you, but because it was necessary, to keep you alive. Again, you can believe it or not. Up until now, I don't think you've accepted the realities of our lives, Frankie. It isn't a game. We don't get re-takes, like in the movies. We make the wrong move and somebody, maybe one of us, gets killed. Period.  
  
"We need you to help us get out of here. Any of us can blow things up. We need more than that. We need a series of events that's going to take every Able in this complex away from us, away from the van. So nobody gets shot. You're the only one here who can pull that off. We need you, Frankie. We need you with us on this one."  
  
It had taken a moment for Frankie to decide. He knew Johnnie was laying it on. But he also knew it was based on the truth. Anybody could blow something up. It took skill and art to pull off a timed series of precise explosions. Shit. Maybe if they got Face back, the pressure would be off him to be something he wasn't. If he pulled this off - when he pulled this off - maybe then they'd really appreciate his skills. Part of him said he had no choice, part of him said he held all the cards...  
  
"Frankie? You set?"  
  
"Yeh, Johnnie. Give the word, you'll have fireworks that'll put Disney to shame."


	31. Chapter 31

Kurt and Daryl had walked out of Sam's room, feeling they were in even deeper shit than they had imagined before. Sam knew not only Stockwell, but Carla. And at the mention of Stockwell, Sam had almost physically deflated. He wouldn't explain how he knew them. In fact, he wouldn't say anything more, except that they should get Randy and get out. Now. When Kurt said it would take a little time to get all four men out, he just repeated himself - get Randy out. He hadn't responded to another word they said.  
  
"So now what, Kurt? Sam seems to have given up, and Randy won't go without him, you know that."  
  
Kurt stopped, trying to gather his thoughts. They would get no help from Sam, for whatever reason. He agreed with Daryl. Sam had given up. And he had serious doubts that Randy would accept their help if Sam didn't tell him to. And yet he had to get them both out of here, soon. Not only because of Carla breathing down their necks. He just knew there would be a leak somewhere, sometime. They were dealing with too many heavy hitters. And lastly, he had come to like both men and wanted to see them out of this entire mess. Despite themselves.  
  
"C'mon, Daryl. I need to see the staff schedules. Time we started setting the rules around here."  
  
*****  
  
"Ah, good morning, Carla. I had a very interesting conversation with Dr. Barish earlier today. It seems that someone in our Colorado location thinks our friends may actually be right under our very noses. He contacted Dr. Barish to let him know."  
  
"Oh, really? Why did he contact Barish instead of you? That seems pretty outrageous. And who was it?"  
  
"One of the doctors. I have the name. He'll be dealt with, of course. I don't like breaches in my security systems. Any more than I like things happening in my own facilities that I don't know about."  
  
"What else did Barish have to say?"  
  
"Obviously, the good doctor was quite upset. Thought perhaps I had reneged on our agreement. In the end, I promised, naturally, to check this out thoroughly. If it is true, I'll have no choice but to allow Barish's retrieval team in."  
  
"I'll check into it right away, General."  
  
"No, I don't think I need trouble you with that, Carla. I already have someone else handling Colorado. He should be reporting back later this afternoon."  
  
"Oh, very well, General. It would be no trouble, however."  
  
"No, I'm sure it wouldn't be, Carla. But I think you will be quite occupied with some other things I have going. There's a project going on in the Ukraine that needs someone with your, uh, expertise. Your flight leaves this evening."  
  
"Very well, sir."  
  
Carla headed back to her office, seething. She would find out who leaked the information to Barish, and whatever Stockwell had in mind for him, would be nothing compared to Carla's wrath. The Ukraine, indeed! Well, if Stockwell thought he had her, she still had that security chief under her wing. By the time Stockwell's man got there, there would be no record of any of the four men. And damn it, she didn't care how they disappeared.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock moved casually across the lawn, talking animatedly to Billy. He'd kept the dog around, for the Ables' benefit. Despite paperwork to the contrary, no one really believed he was suddenly sane. And Murdock did nothing to dissuade them. It had worked to his and the team's advantage far too often.  
  
BA tinkered with the van's engine, three bored Ables scattered a few yards away. They couldn't understand how a man could spend so much time on a van that ran so smoothly anyway. Almost every day he was making some kind of adjustment on the thing. The man needed a new hobby.  
  
Hannibal was sitting in the living room, reading a book, peacefully smoking his cigar. The Ables had asked him time and time again not to smoke in the house, but he always ignored them. Many times he'd grin at them as he lit up. At least he was just reading today, and not baiting them, another favorite hobby.  
  
Frankie was on the basketball court, shooting one lay up after another. He'd tried to get a couple of the Ables to join in on a one-on-one game, but they'd ignored him. So he just dribbled the ball around and kept shooting.  
  
Eventually, Hannibal put the book down, stretched his arms and moved out to the balcony. From there, he could see Frankie bouncing the ball around the court. Frankie glanced up, took a couple more shots, and stopped to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Letting the ball roll away, he grabbed a can of pop and moved off the court, heading in the general direction of Murdock's stroll.  
  
Frankie stopped halfway between the court and Murdock, gave the pilot a casual wave, did a couple toe touches, and moved off again, this time away from Murdock. Murdock returned the wave, patted Billy and moved toward the front of the house, where BA worked on the van. Stepping up to the front of the van, he started loudly telling BA about the squirrel Billy had treed, until BA took a swing at him. Murdock jumped away and, loudly complaining about the lack of fraternal interest BA showed, headed around the corner toward the back of the house.  
  
Frankie stopped to re-tie his shoelaces, surreptitiously reaching for the timer's button. Showtime...  
  
*****  
  
He hung up the phone. He had thought all of this crap was behind him when he took this assignment. He should have known better. Nothing ever stayed buried when it came to Stockwell. And she was just as bad. Shaking his head, he moved out. The sooner this was taken care of, the better he would feel.  
  
He caught up with Kurt and Daryl first. He noted they were very close to the restricted personnel office. Figured. They tried to act very innocent, to no avail. He 'escorted' them back to his office, assuring them they did not want to create a scene.  
  
Randy was equally easy to find; he was, as usual, in Sam's room. However, he had no qualms regarding a scene, particularly with Sam urging him to fight back. It took a very firm threat to Sam's well-being to bring him under control. Soon, the three men were in the security chief's office, with a very worried Sam left seething in his room. He soon left his worries behind, as the IV dripped a rather potent sedative into his system.  
  
Kurt, Daryl and Randy were led to a rather dumpy-looking van, and found themselves cocooned in smelly laundry bags, tied and gagged, 'just in case'. After a long and bumpy ride, they were released to find themselves in the back of a seedy-looking motel.  
  
The security chief looked at the three disheveled men. They better be worth it.  
  
"Okay, your buddy will be here shortly. We had to take a few extra steps to get him out. I strongly suggest you forget all about Dinosaur. As of now. Where you go, what you do, I don't care as long as the hospital or its people aren't involved. Understand?"  
  
The men nodded, not daring to believe they were still breathing. With a final hard look at them, the Chief climbed back into the van and left them in a cloud of dust.


	32. Chapter 32

The first explosion, toward the perimeter of the compound, sent a gaggle of Ables rushing after the team members, herding them unceremoniously into the house. Once they were contained, all but a handful of Ables hurried to join the others checking out the explosion. They had barely gotten out of the house when the next explosion, followed by intense gunshots, came from an area just to the east of the original. The Ables split their forces, trying to cover both scenes while at the same time eluding the gunfire.  
  
Inside, seated in the living room, the team members pretended to be as surprised as the Ables. They could hear the various exchanges between groups over the Ables' radios. As explosion followed explosion, coupled with gunfire and scattered around the compound, their `anxiety' grew to match that of the Ables in the room with them. Finally, as the ruckus spread over an ever-growing area, they heard the order they'd been waiting for -- the call for reinforcements. Hannibal barked at their guards.  
  
"For god's sake, either get out there and get this stopped or hand over some weapons so we can at least protect ourselves!"  
  
It took only seconds for the lead Able to decide. The team was quickly ushered into the first bedroom and locked in. Murdock counted as the Ables rushed out the front door.  
  
"That's it, Colonel! Time to fly!"  
  
BA took the door out with one shove. Each man raced for his own room, grabbing the weapons hidden under the mattresses the day before. They met at the van, where BA gunned it and raced down the drive, firing as they went. They were almost to the street before any of the Ables realized what was actually happening. Amid shouts and more gunfire, the van bounced off the curb in its race to the street. A few Ables ran to their own vehicles, not realizing their tires had been the first victims of the team's weapons. In moments, the compound was silent, except for the disgusted swearing of the Ables.  
  
*****  
  
"I'm sorry, sir. I spoke with the Chief of Security himself. Gave me access to all the records. There's nothing here to indicate these men were ever here. I even checked with the doctors - including the one who called Barish. He's the only one who insists they were here."  
  
Stockwell slammed down the phone. Carla was getting far too good at outmaneuvering him. He wondered which one she'd gotten to. Probably the Chief, but that would be hard to prove. He knew the man; one of his best, in his time. Apparently hadn't lost his touch. Stockwell sighed. Carla was on her way to the Ukraine by now. He allowed himself a bitter smile at that. It would give them both time to reassess their positions. In the meantime...  
  
He grabbed the phone again and punched in a number. Stockwell's only real concern now was the team. He was quite sure they knew almost as much about Peck's whereabouts as he did. And that meant he needed to get to Peck first. Barish would be an excellent partner in this. Stockwell had no doubt that some of the doctor's retrieval team were already in Colorado. He would arrange for his own men to join them. Barish undoubtedly had plans for the lieutenant and that partner of his; it would just have to be another disappointment. Stockwell needed the team back, and the lost teammate was the way to accomplish that. Barish would have to live with it. After all, Peck shouldn't have gotten away in the first place.  
  
*****  
  
Randy paced the hotel room, checking the window every couple of minutes.  
  
"Randy, relax. He'll be here soon."  
  
They had taken a pair of rooms at the seedy little hotel, Kurt and Daryl in one, Randy in the other. Daryl had gone out to scrounge something to eat, while the other two men waited in Randy's room for Sam's arrival.  
  
Randy shook his head doubtfully. "That would be poor procedure. Sloppy."  
  
Kurt looked quizzically at him.  
  
"For the three of us, it was easier to let us go. Not so many bodies to dispose of afterward. But Sam's too much trouble. He can't walk very well yet, plus his other medical problems. All of which will make him very noticeable outside the hospital. Especially here. Easier to just kill him and pass it off as an injury-related death, or just dispose of the body and records. If that security chief had any brains, that's what he'd do. I would."  
  
"You would?"  
  
"The Chief's objective - running a safe, secure and inconspicuous hospital - could be seriously compromised, dealing with Sam. Tactically, he's better off getting rid of him. One does not allow interference with the objective. We never would have risked it, in-country."  
  
"We didn't kill the wounded, Randy. C'mon..."  
  
"Apparently you fought a different war than I did."  
  
"This isn't a war, Randy."  
  
"Isn't it? Maybe you just don't realize it yet, Kurt." The nervous pacing had stopped as they talked, and Randy exuded calm intelligence. Kurt almost felt like he was looking at his commander, preparing to take green troops into battle. He remembered Sam's worries about Randy. Maybe he hadn't been exaggerating, after all.  
  
"Is that what you're planning when Sam gets here? Get rid of him, because he's too much trouble?"  
  
"What? No, of course not! That's different. I owe Sam. Besides..." he stared out the window again, "he's on the mend. It's not as if he were going to delay us for long..."  
  
*****  
  
"How long before they have someone on our tail, Johnnie?" Frankie was watching the road ahead nervously, as if expecting a road block to pop up at any moment.  
  
"I doubt very much if he'll have any one after us, Frankie. He knows where we're going. He'll just wait for us there."  
  
"Ha, great kidder, Johnnie...you are kidding, right? I mean, we're not just gonna drive out there knowing Stockwell's already gonna be there, right?"  
  
"Sure, Frankie." Murdock was lounging in his seat, studying the road map. "Stockwell knows we want Face, and he knows if he gets him first, he's got us again. I imagine there's more people after Face right now than even Decker could've asked for. We just gotta beat `em all to the punch, that's all."  
  
"Oh, right, and how we gonna do that, driving out there when the rest of `em probably flew?"  
  
"Getting there isn't the problem, Frankie. It's finding him once we do. Stockwell doesn't know Face like we do. And despite what he thinks, the General doesn't really know how we operate, either."  
  
Hannibal lit up, feeling happier than he had for months. Finally, some action of the right kind.  
  
"Yeh, Frankie, don't worry about the other guys. We'll find Face first; then it's just a matter of keeping ahead of Stockwell. And we've had plenty of practice at that, thanks to the military."  
  
"Yeh, man, don't worry so much. We git out there, find Face, git out, and then we start doing what we always done. Things'll be just like they were." BA glanced back at Frankie. "Well, almost. Now we gonna have a real explosives expert, too."  
  
Frankie sat back in his seat, stunned. Had he really heard BA correctly? No more scamming? No more trying to be someone he wasn't? The explosives expert. Man, that sounded so good. He looked over at the pilot.  
  
Murdock smiled at him. Now Frankie would find out what it was really like to be a member of this team, when they worked on their own terms.


	33. Chapter 33

Dr. Barish was not happy when Stockwell informed him that his own men would be joining the retrieval team. He certainly didn't need any more interference from that quarter. Barish didn't know who it was, but obviously someone high up in Stockwell's organization had planned the demise of this experiment. Literally millions of dollars, down the drain. And the costs still climbing. All the man hours involved just in trying to round up these two men...it would be a long time before he would recover enough prestige to commandeer those kinds of funds again. And now he had to work with the organization that had spawned his failure. Well, he may have to accommodate Stockwell on this - Barish's own superiors would question his refusal of help - but he certainly didn't have to turn the search completely over to them. He had come out here in person - unheard of before - to make sure these two subjects were found and disposed of, and Stockwell's people were not going to get in his way.  
  
He had discovered, to his disgust, that he was not allowed inside Stockwell's hospital. The gatekeeper had been quite firm about that, displaying a cold disregard for Dr. Barish's position. He would have to wait until 'official approval' had been received. From his conversation with the General, Barish knew it would come with Stockwell's team. Damn turf war. The politics involved in these matters were always distasteful to him. Why people could not accept the importance of this research and quit interfering with him, he would never understand. The politics, the so-called 'moralities', all the nit-picking crap that was thrown in his way - well, it had never stopped him before. He had learned to live within the system's banalities.  
  
So he sat in his motel room, seething, waiting for the interlopers to make their appearance so he could grill the security people and doctors. His retrieval team was not idle, however. The locals here, as everywhere else, suspicious of buildings and people who refused to open themselves up to public scrutiny, had been somewhat helpful. Regardless of security procedures, people in small towns knew things, saw things, even if they didn't recognize the significance of them. His team had caught bits and pieces of information. Eventually, they would come across a pivotal piece, one that would allow them to put it all together.  
  
And then this chapter in his career could thankfully be closed.  
  
*****  
  
Sam had finally arrived, in a van, still under heavy sedation. A nurse had come along, to make sure he arrived in one piece. Once he was installed in the room he would share with Randy, the nurse left without saying a word to any of the three men. As the van disappeared around the corner, it struck them all that they were very much on their own.  
  
Sam finally awoke several hours later, confused, but aware enough to be near panic. It took all of them to calm him down, let him know that Randy was okay, that they were all okay, that they were no longer captive to Stockwell's organization. At least, not physically. Once they were able to get through to him, he calmed down, although still apprehensive. He asked to speak with Randy, alone. Kurt and Daryl, not happy about it, nonetheless left the room.  
  
"Hey, Sam, don't worry about a thing. You're going to be fine. We all are. A few days rest here, and we'll head out to the Coast. We have to round up some transportation, but Kurt said he'd take care of that. And Daryl - you know, he's really not as slow as he acts sometimes. He knows how to set us all up with new ID's, histories - the whole bit. Just think, Sam, we'll leave here whole new people. Then when we get out west, we can start looking for our families, friends, our real connections. And no one will know where to find us unless we tell them. It'll be perfect."  
  
"Randy, please, we have to talk first." Sam wasn't thinking all that clearly, but he had to get this straight from the start. Before Randy got too far into his plans. "I have to know how many pills you've got left. I can't remember what you said before. How many do you have?"  
  
Randy was just a tad annoyed at the question. He didn't need those any more. He was thinking just fine now. Everything was clear, no more fuzziness. Well, okay, so he still didn't remember much from before Minneapolis, other than the war, but so what? That's why they were going west.  
  
"I've got two left, Sam. And then I'm free of them. I don't need them any more, honestly. I'm feeling great."  
  
"Randy, I know you feel good now. But that's not necessarily going to continue, not if you don't have your meds. Now, listen..." he forestalled Randy's protests, "I know you want off them. I want you to get off them, too. But you can't just quit. It could be dangerous for you. Your body's used to having them, okay?"  
  
Randy frowned, but nodded. He could understand that. So far Sam hadn't said anything totally unreasonable.  
  
"I know you want to get started finding your past. Believe me, I want to help you with that in every way that I can. But we need to make one stop before we can do that. We can both benefit from it. I mean, let's face it, I'm not exactly in top form, myself." He allowed himself a smile, and thankfully, Randy returned it. "So I want us to go to a place where I can recuperate a little more, and where there'll be someone to help you out if you have...trouble...from the pills. It'll only be for a few days. We can go there as soon as Kurt gets us transportation, okay? Stay there instead of here. And it's actually further west, closer to where we want to be anyway. Would that be okay?"  
  
Randy thought for a moment. Sam wasn't really trying to dissuade him from his search. And if they would be closer to the coast, why not? But he wanted to know more about the place itself before he made any decisions.  
  
"What is this place, Sam? Another hospital? 'Cause I'm not going to another hospital."  
  
Good, Sam thought. He's at least open to the idea. He knew this was a risk. It was all there, in the files. Anyone looking would find it easily, and it wouldn't be hard to make the connection. But he didn't think he had any other choice. It had worked before. It would have to work now.  
  
"No, it's not a hospital at all, Randy. Just...a house. It's safe, Randy. Believe me."  
  
Randy frowned. So far, so good.  
  
"Where is it, exactly?"  
  
"A little place in California, called Bad Rock."


	34. Chapter 34

It took them less than 24 hours to reach Dinosaur. They pulled the van over to the side of the road before actually entering the town. There were, no doubt, numerous people watching for the rather unique vehicle. No point in making things easy for them.  
  
Hannibal had been uneasy about sending Murdock in for the recon. The pilot had been remarkably steady over the last weeks, almost as if Face had reached across the miles and held him together as usual. But the closer they had gotten to this little town, and the prospect of finding Face, the more fidgety he had gotten. Hannibal practically ordered him to keep it low-key. He had his doubts when Murdock gave him an elongated Boy Scout oath, but there was no one else he could send who wouldn't stand out like a sore thumb.  
  
It took Murdock less than ten minutes to walk cross country into town, not wanting to be seen walking alone on the road. He meandered through the streets, wandered into a few stores. Every now and then he chatted up the store clerks, letting them know he was new to the town, thinking of moving in, actually. How he'd grown up in a small town, missed the closeness, hated the smugness of the people in big cities. Knew all the buttons to push. Sometimes he was looking for work in a hospital; other places, he mentioned he had done some research work. Either way, he asked about possible places of employment. Every time he was directed to "this place outside town", although he was told it was very hard to get hired there. And no one really could tell him what exactly they did out there.  
  
"Fancy, private hospital" was one way it described; "some government thing" was another. It seemed everyone had applied there at one time or another; no one knew anyone who'd actually been hired, although they all had heard of people who had. Murdock found not one person who could name a local who worked out there. They could point out people who did work there, but they "weren't from around here", apparently a serious character flaw.  
  
Murdock liked small towns. They reminded him of home. And he was just friendly enough, without being too friendly. Knew how to ask questions without being 'snoopy'. Knew how to let people know he was just trying to return to the fold, as it were. Acted the part well enough for people to respond with information. He wandered the streets for a few short hours before finally stopping at a rental car company and procuring a car for the team. They would get a couple rooms at the motel on the edge of town. Tomorrow, and the next day, he would make himself a familiar sight in certain parts of town where the people had been most forthcoming, and then he would find out what they really needed to know.  
  
Murdock smiled as he drove back to the van. Yep, he really liked small towns. Everyone knew everything. It was just a matter of fitting in...  
  
*****  
  
"Kurt, I need you to get us a van right away. I want to leave first thing in the morning."  
  
Kurt looked up at Randy. "In the morning? I thought we were going to stay here for a few days. I don't think Sam's up to another trip so soon."  
  
"It was Sam's idea. He knows a place where we can stay and he'll get the medical attention he needs." Randy wasn't about to say anything about the other reason Sam wanted to go there. After all, Kurt and Daryl were still relative strangers to him, even though they were friends of Sam. He needed them to obey orders, not question them. Whatever problems Sam thought Randy might have, these two weren't going to know about them. "It's about a 12-hour drive from here. We can take it slow, though. If it gets too rough on Sam, we'll stop somewhere for the night."  
  
"Twelve hours?" It was Daryl's turn to object now. "Sam will never handle that, Randy. Even if we stop. Hell, just getting here was bad enough for him."  
  
"Sam will handle it because he has to. Look, Sam's right on this. We're too close to that place. Sure, the ride might be a bit rough for him, but once we're in Bad Rock he'll have a doctor to take care of him."  
  
"Bad Rock?" Kurt looked at Randy. He'd seen that name before, somewhere in all the information Carla had given them. Bad Rock. A doctor? Damn. He'd have to check that out. His uneasiness about this trip was growing. They shouldn't be going anywhere that was in their files. It would be like painting a target on their backs.  
  
"Yeh, you've heard of it?" Randy was surprised.  
  
"Uh, no, it's just kind of a weird name, y'know?"  
  
"Yeh, it is kinda weird." Randy looked over at him, suspicious. Kurt had sounded downright startled at the mention of the name. He knew it, all right. So why not admit it? Randy was starting to get a bad feeling about this place. Sam was so insistent on going there, and now Kurt. He looked over at Daryl, who seemed deep in thought.  
  
"What about you, Daryl? Still have a problem with this?"  
  
"Hmm? Oh, uh, no, Randy." Randy's tone had made it clear. There were to be no more objections. "I'll get started on the new ID's."  
  
"Good. We'll leave at 0600." Without another word, he headed for his own room. He still had a lot of planning to do. And he wanted to talk to Sam about these friends of his.  
  
*****  
  
Barish was watching Stockwell's men carefully. The leader of the group, Barish didn't know his name, just some damn number, was going over their information with Barish's own man, Clifton. Much as Barish had been against this, he realized that both groups had been similarly trained, and would work well together. The only possible problem would be of loyalties. Stockwell's people had one agenda in mind; Barish's another. In the end, that was probably the one difference in their training. Stockwell's people were on there purely for retrieval; his team's job, on the other hand, was search and destroy. It would be interesting to see who succeeded first. As long as the men were found, it didn't matter who found them. It was afterwards that mattered. Barish hoped Stockwell's people would know enough to stay out of the way when Barish took 'custody'.  
  
*****  
  
Able 17 was heartened to discover that his counterpart was intelligent and thorough. It would make the job that much easier. He didn't forget Stockwell's warnings, however. It was his job to make sure that Barish's team failed in its ultimate mission. Oh, they would work together, gathering information and locating the targets; but after that, Able 17 had to make sure the targets were brought back to Stockwell, alive. A lot of his success would depend on the working relationship he developed with John Clifton, Barish's head man. A feeling of mutual respect would do much to overcome any obstacles the man might put in his way. In the end, though, it all depended on one thing: which did Clifton feel more strongly - fear of Barish, or distaste for turning on his counterparts? Able 17 certainly had his job cut out for him. And in his case, fear of Stockwell outweighed everything.  
  
*****  
  
Sam was half-asleep when Randy returned, but he could tell something was bothering him. He struggled to open his eyes completely; it was harder still to listen to what Randy was saying.  
  
"How well do you know Kurt and Daryl? Because it occurs to me you never mentioned them and I know I never saw them before the thing with the cop."  
  
Oh, boy. Sam had never had a chance to go over this "friends" story with the two men, and he wasn't sure how to answer him. Say the wrong thing and there would definitely be problems.  
  
"Well, they're kinda friends of friends." It gagged him to closet Stockwell and Carla in those terms, but it was the only way to put it. "My other friends found out we were having some problems, and these guys offered to help us out. I admit, I was a little leery of them at first, but they're okay. Really."  
  
Randy was still looking suspicious. Oh, for the days when he would just accept whatever Sam told him.  
  
"Look, they have their own way of doing things, but in the end, they want the same thing we do. To get the hell out of this mess. Give them a chance, Randy. Listen to what they have to say. We're better off having them with us than not. Okay?"  
  
Randy didn't say anything for a long moment. He just looked at Sam, as though trying to decide something. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders.  
  
"Okay, Sam. I gotta admit they're useful. As long as they stay useful, they're with us." He went to his own bed and lay down, arm over his eyes. End of conversation.  
  
Sam closed his own eyes. The next few days were going to be very, very hard. He only hoped they would all make it through in one piece.


	35. Chapter 35

Kurt had some trouble finding a suitable vehicle. The town they had been dropped off in, Ballard, Utah, had maybe 500 people living in it. There was no such thing as an auto dealership or car rental. There was, however, Ballard Auto Wrecking & Repair. Kurt looked over the yard, discouraged. He really didn't see how he was going to find anything drivable, let alone something that would get them 650 some miles through desert. And Randy wanted a van. Sure. Nothing to it.  
  
"Help you with somethin', fella?" Faded, oily jeans, grimy tan shirt, beer belly. Talk about stereotypes. This place was full of them. The man held out his hand, after wiping it carefully on an oily rag. "Ken Weaver, owner and chief mechanic here. Well, only mechanic," he chuckled.  
  
"How do you do?" Kurt reluctantly shook hands. Wasn't exactly the time to be finicky, especially when this guy could rob them blind and they'd have no choice in the matter. "I'm, uh, looking for a van, actually."  
  
"Got lots of 'em. Most of 'em parted out by now, but we got a few that're only missing a few things."  
  
"Well, actually, I need one in running condition. We have to leave for California in the morning, and our own, uh, transportation having given up the ghost, so to speak..."  
  
"Oh, I get 'ya. Hmm. Well, you know, we do got one over here that's not in too bad a shape. Needs a little work, but I could probably have it up and running in a day or so."  
  
"No, I have to leave first thing in the morning. Is there a cab or bus or something to Roosevelt? Someone told me they have a dealership there."  
  
"No, not really. Most folks around here have their own 'transportation'." Weaver was starting to look suspiciously at Kurt. "Just how did you get all the way out here, anyway?"  
  
"Oh, uh, friends...some friends of ours dropped us off. It was on their way...somewhere else."  
  
"Hmm. Well, like I said, I can have it ready for you in a day or so. Take it or leave it."  
  
"How much?"  
  
Weaver grinned, friendly as could be now. "Well, the van's 500. Repairs, probably run around 300. Give or take."  
  
"Hmm. Give or take. How much extra if you get it done by morning?"  
  
Weaver grinned, but his eyes were steely. "Thousand bucks even. Cash."  
  
Kurt really wanted to belt that grin off the guy's face, but his was the only game in town. "Fine. First thing in the morning, like 6:00am."  
  
"Like hell, boy. 8:00am. No sooner, but no later. And I'll need a deposit. Half."  
  
Kurt was seething as he returned to the hotel room. He was not looking forward to telling Randy about this. Surprisingly, Randy took the cost and delay with equanimity.  
  
"One has to be flexible, after all, Kurt. Two hours doesn't matter that much. And the man does have to be compensated for the extra effort he's putting in."  
  
Nothing further was said about the matter. Randy made sure everyone retired early so they would be ready to leave when he woke them the next morning. Kurt didn't like how calm Randy was. And he really didn't like that little smile on his face as he closed the door to his room.  
  
Randy could hear Sam's even breathing from the other side of the room. He had slipped him a light sedative with his dinner, and would give him another when they left in the morning. He wasn't totally without concern for Sam on this trip. But one had to prioritize. Tonight he needed Sam to sleep soundly. Tomorrow, he wanted to spare him as much discomfort as possible. He wished it were possible to dope the other two; he had a feeling he would be facing some arguments in the morning, but he would handle that as necessary. Priorities.  
  
He waited almost two hours before slipping out and down the hall to the other room. Listening at the door, he heard light snoring; two sets. Smiling softly, he crept down the hall and out of the back door. It was chilly, but not yet cold. Sending everyone to bed early had been a necessity in more ways than one. It was only a little after 11:00. Plenty of time yet.  
  
He made his way carefully through the town. The streets were mostly empty. There wasn't even a bar in town. He didn't like that. Too quiet. Made any disturbances that much more noticeable. And he had no doubt there would be a disturbance tonight. Nobody ripped him off, and nobody changed his plans.  
  
*****  
  
The guy was strange, no doubt about that. But Murdock liked him. And the guy liked Murdock. They thought alike. Well, maybe not really, but the pilot had learned how to go along with a lot of strange ideas, just to keep the peace. And, the more he knew about Stockwell, the more he was inclined to believe this guy for real.  
  
"Yessir, I won't have one of those things in my house, I don't care how popular they become. Just another way for the government to keep tabs on its citizens, my friend. They say that 'monitor' is just like a TV screen, but I know better. Government can just watch right through that thing, see every move you make, right in your own house. And everything you keep on these computers, the government can copy. Yessir, you'll see. The government'll have everyone under their thumb. Just wait. They'll even have them in the schools and libraries, local government offices - any where they can to keep tabs on people."  
  
Fascinating as these theories were, Murdock was getting impatient. It was getting late, and so far he'd gotten only more rumors about what went on at Stockwell's place. Wild stories, really. The one thing people did notice was when someone came or went down that road. Hard to miss, since the road only went there. Could've been construed as sloppiness, but it was also one good way of making sure Stockwell's security knew who was coming. Just a matter of priorities, he guessed.  
  
"Now you take that place outside town. People don't know what it is, exactly. But I know. Yessir, I know."  
  
"I thought it was a hospital."  
  
"Bullshit! Bullshit, my friend. Never see any ambulances go in there. Lot of vans, lot of cars. Never no ambulances. And never one at a time, either. Always at least two." The man took a long drag of his cigarette. "Yep, always two. Well, except the other day. But that was just some laundry truck."  
  
"You make it sound unusual to see a laundry truck. Surely they must have a lot of laundry, for a place that size."  
  
"Well, sure they do. But Emma - that's our local gal, owns the laundromat - she usually picks it up in her truck. Guess they musta had something special. Wouldn't surprise me. God only knows what crap the government's really doing in there."  
  
"Uh, you remember when this other truck left?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Sometimes in the afternoon, I guess. Day before yesterday, I think. Why?"  
  
"Well, I think you're right. Everything I've heard about the place, it's weird. And then all of a sudden there's this truck...get my drift?"  
  
"You think there was something in that truck? Something that shouldn't be?" The man's eyes squinted angrily.  
  
"Well, you never know. Maybe sneaking somebody out. Maybe sneaking something out. Something they wouldn't want people to know about."  
  
"Yeh..."  
  
"Sure would be nice to know where that truck was heading. Might tell us what was in it."  
  
"Hmm, yeh...well, that shouldn't be too hard."  
  
Murdock stared at him. "Really?"  
  
"Oh, hell, no. There's five roads outta here, and two don't go anywhere. And I know plenty of folks living on the three that do."  
  
"So you could find out which way it went? I'm impressed." Murdock gazed at the man, awestruck.  
  
"Aw, hell, pays to be paranoid, right?" he joked.  
  
"You got that right, brother!"  
  
*****  
  
"Rise and shine, gentlemen, rise and shine!" Randy popped open the door and strode in, apparently unmindful of the two guns pointed at him.  
  
"Jesus christ, Randy, you want to get killed?" Kurt glared at him from his bed.  
  
Randy just grinned at them. "Bang, bang, you're dead." Turning serious, he tossed a handful of bullets on the bed. "Be more careful next time. C'mon, van's out front and Sam's waiting. We'll catch breakfast on the road."  
  
"What? What time is it? I set the alarm for..."  
  
"For 5:30. I know. You've got about four minutes until it goes off. We've got a chance to leave a little early, so I thought we'd take it. I'd hurry if you want to go with us."  
  
"What? But the van wasn't supposed to be ready until 8."  
  
"Ah, well, our friend at the junkyard got real ambitious last night. And much more...reasonable on the costs involved. Anyway, we need to get going."  
  
Kurt and Daryl were already getting dressed. "We aren't going to have problems with that guy, are we, Randy? He didn't seem all the reasonable yesterday."  
  
"Don't worry. He's taken a vacation. Real sudden, but then, stress will do that to a person." Randy glanced at his watch. "Five minutes, guys."  
  
Randy strode out of the room, leaving two very nervous men hurrying to gather their things.


	36. Chapter 36

Barish, himself, had spoken with the security chief. He found the man to be insufferable. No appeals to patriotism, no threats of prosecution, nothing had changed the man's story that Randy and Sam had never been at 'his' hospital. That had given Barish an opening, at least - threaten to have him relieved of his duties. He told the man that Stockwell would back him up on that. The chief had just stared straight ahead, almost at attention, and repeated the same tired old phrase. Either the man didn't really care about his job, or he had confidence enough in his status that he wasn't really worried, regardless of what Barish claimed. At any rate, it was like talking to a stone wall.  
  
The next step was talking to the doctor who had contacted him in the first place. He'd tried unsuccessfully to do so when he'd first arrived, but without Stockwell's cooperation, it was impossible. Now he had full access to the man.  
  
Doctor Loudon proved to be just the opposite of the security chief. Partly because he was a querulous type to begin with, partly because he felt he had been maligned because of his story, and mostly because he wanted Barish's promised protection from Stockwell. He described both men in detail, not only their looks but all of their injuries and mannerisms. Barish had no doubt that Randy and Sam had both been there. But then Loudon described their 'companions'. This was news to Barish. Loudon, stupidly, had not mentioned the other two before, not even considering the significance of two of these 'Ables' being with the others. But then, why should he? All of the clients at this facility had Ables with them. But not all of the Ables disappeared along with the clients.  
  
It was Loudon who let them know when the foursome had disappeared. Randy and the two Ables first; Loudon had been waiting for Randy to show up for another 'exam'. When he'd gone looking for him, their suite was empty. Totally. He'd immediately gone in search of Sam. He'd only caught a glimpse of him, the way into Sam's room being barred by a couple of rather burly security guards. He'd gone back a few hours later and found the room as empty as the suite. He knew one of the regularly scheduled nurses had been gone for a few hours, but discretion being the only part of valor in this place, she had only stared stonily at him when he asked about her whereabouts. Security guards wore no identification, other than the generic security emblem, so he could not even tell Barish what their names were.  
  
In all, it was not a very satisfactory interview. It confirmed what he had already thought, that the men had had inside help escaping. It also gave him a window as to when they actually left. And he also knew that Stockwell had not told him about the two Ables.  
  
It did not make him happy.  
  
*****  
  
They had been driving for nearly three hours and Sam was starting to wake up. Not happily, either. The van's shocks had definitely seen better days, and he felt every little bump, jerk, and sway. His hip was starting to throb, and his entire mid-section was starting to burn. He tried to look around, but from his position, lying down on thick cushions with his head toward the back of the van, it was hard to see anything without lifting his head; having tried that once and been rewarded with wildly swimming images, he didn't wish to attempt it again. He tried to keep quiet, for some reason thinking he didn't want to cause problems, but a small groan escaped as they hit yet another pothole.  
  
"Sam?" Kurt's face floated above him. He watched, fascinated, as the face multiplied, turning slowly until the images melted back together, looking toward the front of the van. "Randy! Sam's waking up. I don't think he's doing so well." For some reason, Sam thought they must be over the Grand Canyon, as Kurt's voice echoed throughout the van.  
  
The motion slowed, followed by a horrific series of bumps and jolts, and then everything came to a halt. A moment later, Randy's face joined Kurt's, up in the air above him.  
  
"Hey, Sam." The voice was soft and solicitous. For some reason, it felt good just to hear it, the voice he'd grown so accustomed to. Everything didn't seem quite so strange now, although he still hurt like hell. He tried to smile; wasn't sure if he really had or not.  
  
"Sam? I'm going to give you something to make you sleep again, okay? I know it hurts. This will make you sleep and you won't feel it, okay?"  
  
He didn't really want to sleep any more, but Randy's questions weren't really questions. More like statements. He would take whatever it was Randy wanted him to take, and he would sleep again, because Randy wanted him to. And he really didn't want to hurt anymore. He felt someone lift his head; he was smart this time and kept his eyes closed. He swallowed the pill, and within moments felt himself floating away again. It was okay. Randy was there.  
  
*****  
  
"We may have a lead, Doctor." John Clifton stood solemnly in front of Barish's desk, in the confiscated office of the security chief.  
  
"Well, spit it out!" Barish was busy rereading the last reports they had received on their subjects. He wasn't in the mood for penny-ante clues.  
  
"We spoke with a woman who owns the local laundromat. She has the contract for the facility's laundry pickup and delivery. She was rather upset, as it seems there was an additional pickup there that was not through her business. The same day our people disappeared."  
  
Barish put down the papers, pulled off his glasses. "And...?"  
  
"And we were able to find a few people who had seen the delivery van. They were oddly reluctant to discuss it, more so than usual. But we got enough out of a couple of them to ascertain the direction it went when it left town. It was definitely headed west."  
  
"So they're maintaining the same direction. I guess we know now where's he's headed. Back to his old stomping grounds."  
  
"I would agree, sir. With a possible caveat."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"While there are several places they might go in California, they are, after all, traveling with an injured man."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Peck knows we're after them. I would assume he also has realized that Stockwell is probably looking for them, too, after all this time. Particularly since we know two of Stockwell's men are with them."  
  
"You think he knows they belong to Stockwell?"  
  
"It stands to reason, sir. They wouldn't have gotten in there if they weren't Stockwell's, and yet Stockwell is searching for them. Strongly indicates they've gone rogue, much as our two have. For them to stay together under these circumstances, disclosures would have to be made."  
  
Barish thought a moment. It was logical. Naturally. That's what made Clifton so valuable to him. "Go on."  
  
"With an injured man, it seems to me there would be one place they would automatically head for. That doctor the A-team was associated with."  
  
"Rather obvious, isn't it, Clifton?"  
  
"It would be a risk, yes. But I think Peck would be willing to take that risk. After all, there would be no chance of betrayal from her. And the locals all know the team. Plus, any strangers showing up in town would immediately be spotted. It would be very, very difficult to pull off a clean and anonymous 'retrieval' there. My personal opinion, sir, is that he would feel 'cocooned' in Bad Rock."  
  
"So you're saying we should pull our people and head for Bad Rock?"  
  
"Discreetly, yes, sir. Very discreetly. But I think it imperative we move quickly."  
  
Ah, here it came. The problem to cloud the good news.  
  
"There's someone else here in town, asking questions, looking around. At least, they were. We were able to track them to a motel on the edge of town, but they've already checked out."  
  
"Someone else? Like whom?"  
  
"I believe, from the meager descriptions we were able to get, that the rest of the A-Team were here. And now they're gone. I think they have the same information we have, sir, and I also believe they are already on their way to Bad Rock."  
  
Damn. Barish had known there was something Stockwell was not telling him. The question was, why? Why keep the A-Team secret from him? For the same reason the General had gotten involved in the search to begin with - because the team was no longer his. Stockwell was after them, planning to recapture them either by themselves or by getting to Peck first.  
  
"Good work, Clifton. We'll head out immediately. Oh, and by the way..."  
  
"Yes,sir?"  
  
"There's no reason to let Stockwell's people in on this right away. We can leave word in due time."  
  
Clifton frowned, but only momentarily. He knew better than to show any sign of disagreement with Dr. Barish.  
  
"Very well, sir."  
  
*****  
  
"Any news?"  
  
"No, Maggie hasn't heard from her contact in several days now. No one else has tried to contact her, either."  
  
"You still think that's where they're goin, Hannibal?" There was doubt in BA's voice. Just because they'd headed west - it was a big country, after all.  
  
"It's the best bet. There was a reason they were at a hospital. I don't know who was hurt, or how badly, but I know Face. If there were an injury, he'd want Maggie to check it out."  
  
"I don't know, Johnnie. Seems kinda dumb - I mean, wouldn't that be one of the places Stockwell will look first?"  
  
"Sure. But Face knows people are after him. He'll take precautions. And besides," he grinned widely around his cigar, "you know how Maggie gets when anyone tries to push her around. Face will be as safe there as anywhere."  
  
Frankie didn't look reassured, but BA and Murdock, knowing the kind of bearcat Maggie Sullivan could be, just grinned. If Face was indeed headed for Bad Rock, he couldn't be in better hands.


	37. Chapter 37

It had taken John Clifton some time to line up transportation for Barish and his team. While following the men's trail by road had worked well before, not having air transport close at hand was proving a distinct problem. The nearest airfield, in Rangely, was not exactly well known to their pilots, and took some time to pinpoint. It was nearly two hours before the men were finally taxiing down the runway. They had arrived in Bad Rock at close to eight that evening. To Barish, the delay had been untenable. Had he known that Clifton had made a sudden, rash, and hurried call to Able 17 just before they left for the airport, he would have been apoplectic.  
  
Clifton had not liked leaving Stockwell's man in the dark. He had worked well with the man, and had seen nothing less than the high professionalism he himself took pride in. One didn't just stab someone like that in the back. In fact, had it not been for Able 17, Clifton would not have found the laundromat owner. So, taking some license with Barish's decision to notify Stockwell 'in due time', he made his own decision as to when the 'due time' was. He wasn't sure what the ramifications would be when Barish found out; he did know he probably wouldn't like them.  
  
The small caravan of four vehicles had stopped on the outskirts of Bad Rock. During the flight, Barish had made some inquiries and they knew exactly where Dr. Sullivan's office/home was. It was decided that Clifton and two other men would check it out first, to determine if the quarry had arrived yet. Others would make a surreptitious look around the rest of Bad Rock, particularly the sheriff's office. They needed to know what kind of 'opposition' they might run into. They would meet back at the staging area to compare notes, and subsequently make their plans for the retrieval and disposal from there.  
  
Dr. Barish was somewhat mollified to discover they had beaten their quarry to the target. He was not unduly concerned with the local authorities, either. There were no regular patrols, as such. Depending on when Randy and Sam showed up, they would either be taken that very night, or the next. That was the only real contingency to their plan. The men would have to be taken at night, after the town rolled up the sidewalks and went to bed. They could not afford any witnesses.  
  
Unfortunately, that also included Dr. Sullivan.  
  
*****  
  
They had arrived outside Bad Rock just before nine that night, having had to make several short stops along the way to accommodate Sam. It had not been a good trip for him. Around mid-afternoon he had once again come to, this time nauseous, and neither pills, water, nor food remained down. He was obviously suffering, and could not hold back frequent grunts of pain from the rough road. Everyone’s nerves were on edge by the time they came to Bad Rock, especially Randy’s.  
  
Kurt, remembering that conversation while they’d waited for Sam to arrive, watched Randy very carefully. While it was true that Randy had done everything he could to make Sam comfortable, and when he spoke to him it was always in a soft voice, Kurt could see the irritation and tension building. Randy may not get rid of Sam because of delays, but how long would he put up with the problems Sam was having?  
  
Now they sat, on a narrow gravel road, looking down on Bad Rock. It didn’t look very big, more of a village than a town. Randy had no idea where this doctor’s house was located and apparently, neither did Sam. They had each tried to ask him, and he just kept saying, "Bad Rock." Whether he really didn’t know, or was just so far out of it that he couldn’t tell them, they had no idea. So here they were, within visual sighting of the place that would offer them some sort of safety and relief, and no idea how to get there. It was not playing well with Randy.  
  
"Shit! I knew we should’ve just gone for San Francisco. Talk about fucking wild goose chases..."  
  
"C’mon, Randy, it’s not that bad. A little recon and we should be able to find it. It’s not like there’s a lot of places to look." Daryl’s voice in the darkness was silky smooth. He had always been much better at calm than Kurt.  
  
Randy stood, ramrod stiff, looking down at the town. "Okay, you and Kurt get your asses down there and see what you can find out. And for chrissake don’t let anyone see you."  
  
Daryl started down the road, but Kurt hesitated. He wasn’t really sure he wanted to leave Randy alone with Sam.  
  
"Problem, Kurt?"  
  
"No, I’m just, uh..."  
  
"Worrying about Sam?"  
  
"Well..."  
  
"Kurt, if I wanted to get rid of him, it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference if you were here or not. I’m not irritated enough to go there, all right? Just don’t push me. Now get down there and find that fucking doctor."  
  
If Randy had meant to reassure Kurt, it hadn’t worked.  
  
*****  
  
Able 17 had checked his messages shortly after Barish and his group had taken off from the airport. While not happy at the turn of events, he felt some degree of satisfaction that his plan of cooperation had worked on Clifton. He immediately assembled his own team and headed for the airfield. They had a distinct advantage over Barish, in that Stockwell had flown his people directly to the area from Langley. It had taken only a quick call to the pilot, and the plane took off within the hour.  
  
Once in the air, Able 17 had contacted Stockwell to apprise him of developments. Stockwell's response had taken him somewhat by surprise. He'd laughed.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, am I missing something?"  
  
"Only that the population of Bad Rock is probably going to double within the next few hours, Able 17. Barish's group, ourselves, Peck and Company, and undoubtedly the rest of the team...I wouldn't be surprised if you found yourselves camping next to each other."  
  
The laughter left his voice. "Just remember - Barish intends to dispose of Peck and any and all witnesses. That will, of course, include your counterparts traveling with these two, and quite possibly Dr. Sullivan. God help any other civilians that get involved. And don't forget - you and your team could also be considered liabilities. I don't think Barish would be brazen enough for a direct assault against me, but he's getting desperate. It is imperative, Able 17, that you get to Peck first. Once he's securely in your custody, Barish will be at a distinct disadvantage.  
  
"If Barish should get Peck first, your next objective is to retrieve him alive, and ensure the safety of any civilians. If possible, secure Ables 9 and 12. They have some explaining to do.  
  
"Of course, the ideal objective is the A-Team. You're more likely to run into them after you get Peck, and they aren't going to be happy that you have him. However, I'm quite sure you'll at least be able to elude them, if capture isn't possible. Once we have Peck back in Langley, the team will come back. And under my terms. So don't worry too much about them in that regard."  
  
"Understood, sir. We may have some help from Barish's man, Clifton. I know he's not happy with the way things are being handled. I doubt it would be anything overt, but some slight impediment might be expected."  
  
"Very well, Able 17. Just don't count too heavily on that. Barish is not a man to be crossed, and this Clifton undoubtedly knows that very well. Let me know when this is taken care of."  
  
Able 17 closed the connection and tried to relax. They should reach Bad Rock just after nine.  
  
*****  
  
"How much further, BA?"  
  
It seemed like he had just answered that question not five minutes before, but BA was studiously trying to be patient. He knew they were all in the same boat, all anxious and worried about what they would find at Maggie's. Like Hannibal, he was almost 100% certain that Face would be there; what condition he would be in was anybody's guess. Which of the four men had needed the hospital, they didn't know. Why they had needed the hospital, they didn't know. All they really knew is that Stockwell and at least one other group was after Face, and they had to find him first.  
  
They hadn't known about this second group until yesterday. At first, when Murdock had heard of other people asking questions about strangers in town, and the hospital, they had assumed it was Stockwell. Gradually, they had discovered that, for many of the people he had spoken with, this was actually the third 'interview'. From the descriptions they had gotten, they knew some of the questioners had been Ables. The others were totally unknown players to them. All it had really done was add to their impatience.  
  
"BA? How much..."  
  
"I already tol you, fool. We'll git in around eleven. Now be quiet and let me drive."  
  
Murdock subsided for a few moments. Then he turned to Hannibal.  
  
"Think it would do any good to get hold of Carla?"  
  
Frankie looked up, puzzled. "Why Carla?"  
  
"Because Carla is, or was, Maggie's contact person." Seeing Frankie was still puzzled, he explained patiently, "She's the only female with enough smarts, and enough balls, to go up against Stockwell. And that's basically what this contact person was doing in helping Face." Hannibal puffed on his cigar, thinking. "I just don't know if it would be wise to try and reach her. The timing of her pull-out, this other bunch showing up in Dinosaur...I don't like it. Sounds more like things were unraveling for her than a planned thing. Contacting her now could just make things worse."  
  
Murdock slumped back in his seat. When they were just going up against the General in this, he'd felt more than confident they would prevail. But now...well, none of them liked dealing with unknowns. And with the three men traveling with Face, and now this other group, there were far too many in this game.


	38. Chapter 38

Kurt had circled slowly around the western edge of Bad Rock, Daryl taking the east. This was something they were used to, were good at. No, were exceptional at. They had done surveillance for so long, the maneuvers were second nature to them. If they didn't want to be seen, they weren't. What they needed to see, they saw. Carla's choosing them for the original assignment had been overkill. They'd been bored up until Randy had bolted. This, tonight - knowing that the enemy was probably close, a deadly enemy at that, and that they were responsible for finding that enemy and thus keeping their people safe - this was what they lived for. This was what made their blood race and their hearts pound and made them feel alive.  
  
Kurt found the first one. He was good, this one. Not quite good enough, but close. Kurt followed him as he moved slowly and carefully through the back streets. He was not on reconnaissance, not yet. This guy was headed somewhere specific. It took only a few moments for Kurt to see the partner, on the other side of the street. He watched the pair move confidently through the shadows. Too cocky, too sure of themselves. Not Stockwell's men. Kurt knew most of them, knew how they worked. These guys must belong to that doctor, Barish. He knew the kind of men these were, just from the way Sam had talked about Barish. He wished he dared take them out, here and now, but knew that would only give his own people away. Besides, he had a feeling he knew where they were going, and he needed to know how to get there.  
  
Daryl had been having a very easy time of it. The streets were dark and wide, and mostly residential with plenty of cover. A few dogs, but they barked at anything and no one seemed to take any notice. It wasn't until he got close to the edge of town that he actually had to start working. He knew, almost immediately, who it was. The pattern of movement was too familiar. It worked to his advantage, knowing what they would do and when. They began to split up, moving off in different directions, looking the town over. He was torn, at first, as to which ones he should go after. Then he saw him and knew. Wherever he was going, that's where Daryl was going.  
  
It took only a few moments for Daryl to realize that things were getting complicated. Wherever it was they were going, there were people coming from there. People that were trying to stay as invisible as they were as they moved through yards and alleys.  
  
Daryl was like a kid at a three-ring-circus. Where to look next, what was happening where and when and by whom. One set coming, one set going, one set following - wait. Daryl almost laughed out loud. It was Kurt, following the newcomers. Everyone sticking to the shadows, moving slowly, cautiously. To the untrained, they would have been nearly invisible. A bit of a breeze rustling the leaves, an animal moving through the bushes. And yet Daryl, and he was sure Kurt, knew exactly who was who and where they were. The newcomers had not given any indication they had spotted anyone. These were warriors, not hunters. The distinction might not seem significant, but the difference was immense.  
  
Daryl knew his people, Stockwell's people. The General paid very well, demanded much in return. The emphasis was on getting the job done, quickly, quietly, efficiently. The rewards for success were good; the penalties for failure extremely 'unpleasant'. But never severe. An almost 'corporate' attitude. Their weakness.  
  
Kurt's quarry, however, were from a different mind-set. The ultimate warriors. Stockwell employed a similar group; rarely used, thank God, but they existed. The rewards and consequences were much greater. They were chosen with greater care, and trained much differently. They were cold, calculating, machine-like in their determination to complete the mission. Emotions were suppressed. Including 'instincts'. Their weakness.  
  
Neither group were trained as deeply, or had an interest, in surveillance, and worked it only when necessary. Usually they would use people like Kurt and himself for that. For the set up. Once the hunters had done their job, the warriors would step in and do theirs. For Daryl, and Kurt, too, the stakes were high, the rewards low. If they failed, the mission failed. But they were not highly regarded. Bird dogs, that's the nickname they held. It didn't matter. They knew their job was vital. In this case, essential. Failure, for them, meant more than a demotion or transfer. More than disgrace and censure. Failure for them could mean dying at the hands of these warriors. So they used their training, their experience, their instincts - and they were damn good at it. To these other agents, they were shadows, seen but not seen, heard but not heard. To Daryl and Kurt, the other agents might as well have been elephants tromping through an open field.  
  
Daryl watched as Kurt slowly increased the distance between himself and his targets. Apparently he’d seen what he needed to. Undoubtedly, Able 17 was heading wherever Kurt’s people had already been, but Daryl never left anything to chance. He also needed to see how Able 17 handled the recon of this place. It would tell him a great deal of the other man’s strategy. There would be time enough to compare notes when they met with Randy. Time enough because it was clear they would not be coming into Bad Rock tonight. Maybe not at all.  
  
Almost an hour later, Daryl broke off his own surveillance and started maneuvering his way back to their van. The adrenaline rush was still there, but slowing. The excitement was over. Now came the necessary, but fatiguing part. Planning out their own strategy, how they would proceed, what were the contingency plans. All the things Daryl found boring as hell.  
  
He was moving silently down the street when he saw him. Just a glimpse as the man worked the side door and slipped into the sheriff's office across the street. Had it not been for the silver hair peeking out from under the cap, he might have missed him completely.  
  
Add one more to the list. One more, who apparently was not afraid of letting the sheriff know he was there. And that meant trouble.  
  
*****  
  
BA turned off the engine and let the black van roll to a silent stop in a small copse of trees. They had traveled a little used road to the back of Maggie's property. It was actually more of a trail, and it had taken all of BA's patience to drive his precious van through with nothing more to guide him than Murdock and Frankie, groping their way among the trees.  
  
Hannibal had figured that at least Stockwell's Ables would be here already. They would have had access to information at the hospital that the team obviously didn't. And they definitely would have flown here. The team had considered flying, briefly, but Hannibal had decided that, BA aside, he wanted the van with its supplies ready at hand. He also had great confidence in Face's ability to stay one step ahead of damn near anyone.  
  
The only people he was really worried about - and he admitted to himself, he was definitely worried - were these new guys. He had no idea who they were, why they wanted Face so badly, or what they intended to do to him if they found him. Remembering Maggie's warnings about the threat to Face, he figured they didn't intend any good for his lieutenant.  
  
The team didn't go immediately to Maggie's house. Hannibal knew it was either under surveillance or possibly surrounded, already. They would have to take their time, and be sure of the situation they were walking into before making that first move. Plus, Hannibal intended to reach Hank. It may only mean two or three additional men, if that, but Hannibal wanted as many people on his side as he could muster. And having the local sheriff visible could possibly forestall any unpleasantness. He wasn't naive, however. If this was the kind of operation he assumed it was, a couple of dead deputies would mean very little to these people.  
  
He left Frankie with the van, with instructions to stay out of sight in the brush, away from the van. He'd rather lose the van than another man. If anyone did come around, he was to give an owl hoot, so the rest of the team would be warned.  
  
"No heroics, Frankie. I mean it." Hannibal could scowl as well as BA when he wanted to, and Frankie acknowledged the order.  
  
Murdock and BA left to check out Maggie's. They would scout around, see if anyone was there, and then sit tight in the positions Hannibal gave them until he returned. Hannibal made his way to Hank's office. It gave him an opportunity to check out the town, as well. He noted a couple of people wandering the streets that probably shouldn't have been. He couldn't tell who they were, but it was obvious they didn't want to be seen. Hannibal was, thankfully, experienced enough with guerilla warfare to spot them anyway. He thought briefly about taking one of them back to the van for questioning, but decided, for once, to forego that. The immediate need was to let Hank know what was probably going to happen in his town, and hopefully get some help.  
  
He slipped quietly down the sidewalk to the office, and over to the side door. It took only a few moments to open the lock and slip in. He thought he caught some movement across the street, but a quick glance showed nothing. He closed the door quietly behind him, and moved to the spare room, where Hank or the deputy on duty would catch a nap during the night. He was lucky; Hank himself was stretched out on the cot. Hannibal crept up, and placed his hand over the sheriff's mouth. Hank immediately woke and stared up at his 'attacker'.  
  
"Shhh, Hank. Just me. The proverbial bad penny. And I've got some bad news..."


	39. Chapter 39

Randy moved quietly over to where Sam lay in the back of the van. Since they had finally come to a standstill, his moans had lessened considerably, although he was still very restless. Randy placed his hand gently on Sam's forehead, frowning when he noted the warmth. Sam was a dilemma for Randy. On the one hand, he probably owed Sam his very life. Sam had been his protector, his teacher, his friend. On the other hand...Randy felt an almost irresistible urge to keep moving, to get even further west, to finally reach the ocean. He didn't know why this was so important to him. He just had this feeling that if his friends, the ones from that dream, were going to find him, it would be at the ocean, on the beaches of California. Damn it, it was where he belonged. He knew it.  
  
So what to do with Sam now? They had reached Bad Rock. As soon as Kurt and Daryl got back with their report, they would decide when to contact this doctor. Sam obviously needed medical attention. Soon. And yet, this whole thing was a delay. And Randy could feel an almost panicky feeling when he thought about that. Irrational, he realized. But he couldn't get rid of it. All he could do was try to keep it in check, keep it from making his decisions for him. He could feel that urge so strongly - to just get rid of the whole bunch of them and take off. Or let these people that were after them come. Let them have Sam and Kurt and Daryl, while he raced off to his destiny.  
  
These strange people. The ones that Sam had never fully explained to him. Never had said why they wanted Randy so badly. Or what they intended to do if they did get him. It wouldn't be good, that's all he could really understand about it. For the life of him, he could not understand what he had done to make anyone chase after him. But then, there was that gap. As his mind had gradually cleared, he had realized that there was a big time period between Nam and the VA he'd found himself in. Big. And while he could understand that some of the things he'd done in Nam might make him a target, it was that missing time that was the more likely culprit. Why couldn't he remember it? Any of it? Except for that dream, of course. He clung to that like a life buoy. Tenuous, yes. Half seen faces, half recognized voices. And yet even that gave him doubts.  
  
He knew what he had done in Nam. Not totally, not clearly, but he knew. He had vivid flashes of memory of it, and it wasn't good. Necessary, but not good. And somehow the people in his dream, and the feelings they evinced, conflicted badly with those memories. Maybe they didn't know about Nam. Maybe they hadn't been there with him. The feeling persisted that they had been, though. That he had known these people almost forever.  
  
Randy shook his head. No more thinking about that stuff. It gave him a headache. And he needed to concentrate on the here and now. He wasn't dumb enough to think they hadn't been followed here. If Sam knew about this place, others did. Again, he didn't know why; he just knew. Somehow - and this made him very uneasy - somehow Sam was connected with their pursuers much more deeply than he'd let on. He just knew too much about them. And then there was Kurt and Daryl.  
  
He'd trusted those two at first because he had to. Because they had helped him get away, helped Sam get to a doctor. But how far to trust them? That was the real question. How far could he trust anyone?  
  
*****  
  
Hank sighed one more time, carefully pouring two cups of coffee. Handing one to Hannibal, he wondered what in the world he had done when he'd first accepted help from these people. Sure, it had been the only choice he could have made back then, but it had sure created a world of problems for him since. And now this. 'Agents' all over the place. Kidnapping. Maybe murder. God. All he wanted was to have a nice, quiet little town to watch over. Instead, he got the A-Team.  
  
"You know I can't do anything until they do." He sipped the hot coffee carefully. He would like to round all these 'agents' up and throw them out of town, but he knew he couldn't do that. Hell, if they were anything like Smith described, he didn't know if he could do that even after they started something. He only had two deputies, and neither one had ever pulled their guns except on the range.  
  
"I know, Hank. I'm just hoping that the presence of law enforcement will make these guys think twice before pulling anything. They don't like attention. But I won't kid you, Hank. These guys are gonna play for keeps. I don't know the one group, but if they're anything like the General's people, they aren't going to play by the rules.  
  
"Basically, you've got two choices here. You can ask your deputies to stand with you, with us, and get rid of these guys before any innocent people get hurt. Or, and I won't blame you a bit for this, you can close your eyes and let this thing play itself out."  
  
"And blame myself if someone does get hurt." He glared at Hannibal. "You realize Maggie's gonna be stuck right in the middle of all this shit. No matter who else gets involved, she's in it, and she's got no choice about it. Does she even know all these ya-hoo's are coming here?"  
  
"Not yet. I haven't wanted to chance contacting her. My men are watching her place though. I don't think she's in any danger until Face tries to contact her. That's going to be the trickiest. If Face is fit enough, he can get to her without alerting these other guys. If he was the one needing the medical care, and someone else tries, it could blow up in our faces." It was Hannibal's turn to glare at Hank. "I won't let anything happen to Maggie, Hank. I won't let anyone get close enough to harm her. I promise you that."  
  
"Promises don't mean much if you're dead, Smith. Do you even know how many of these guys there are? Or how well armed they are?" Hannibal looked at the floor. "I didn't think so. Well...damn it." He slammed the coffee cup on the desk, slopping hot liquid. "I knew I'd regret the day you people came to this town. I'd rather have those damn bikers. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let anyone shoot up this town. I can't speak for my deputies. If this was just ordinary criminals, I'd have no problem telling 'em to mount up. All I can do in this case is ask them. But I'll be with you. For the town's sake, and for Maggie's sake. You just let me know what you want me to do."  
  
"Thanks, Hank. Right now, the only thing I'd ask is that you make your presence known. Double or triple your rounds. Just let these guys know that they've got to deal with you, with the law. Like I said, hopefully that will make them all think twice."  
  
"What about Peck? If he's on the run, will that spook him, too?"  
  
"It might, but I don't think so. He knows you. But if it does, we'll just catch up with him wherever he goes. And it will make things easier here, too." Hannibal had actually thought about trying something to make Face think about moving on, but he hadn't come up with anything yet. And if one of them needed a doctor, he didn't want that on his conscience.  
  
"Okay, Smith, I'll get the extra patrols set up right away. The guys should be okay with that much, anyway. I'll let you know what they say about anything else you might have planned."  
  
Hannibal smiled his thanks, and slipped back out the side door. It had taken longer than he'd wanted, and the outcome wasn't as promising as he would have wished, but at least it was done. He could only hope they really wouldn't need the extra fire power.  
  
*****  
  
Randy listened carefully as Kurt and Daryl described their reconnaissance. He wasn't at all happy with the numbers he was hearing. He figured for every person who'd been seen in town, there were probably at least two more waiting in the wings. The doctor would have to wait, at least for tonight. He didn't like sitting here, though. These guys would be checking out the surrounding area as well. If they stayed here, they'd be sitting ducks.  
  
He remembered one of the small farms they'd passed on the way in. Isolated. Out in the open. Several small, ramshackle buildings on it. A couple kids' bicycles in the yard. It would mean letting Sam sleep in a real bed, get some much needed rest. And they would be able to see anyone coming long before they arrived. Thinking about those bicycles, Randy could pretty much be guaranteed cooperation from the owners. Perfect.  
  
Telling the men only that they were going to find a safer place to wait things out, he put the van in gear and slowly turned the van around. Things would work out. One way or another.


	40. Chapter 40

Kurt looked apprehensively at the small farmhouse as they drove slowly down the single lane drive. He knew damn well Randy didn't know anyone around here, so why was he going here? He glanced at Daryl, who was also looking around the farmyard. The look on his face told Kurt they were thinking along the same lines.  
  
"Randy, what's going on? Why are we here?"  
  
"Sam needs a place to rest, we need a place to hide. This will do just fine."  
  
"Do you know these people?" Daryl spoke up from the back seat, where he was dividing his attention between the farm, Randy, and Sam.  
  
"How the hell would I know them? Look, guys, if we stay in this van, out in the open, we're sitting ducks. I'm not going to chance it. So these people will have some unexpected guests for a bit - big deal. As long as no one causes a problem, no one gets hurt." Randy cast a quick glance at Kurt, then Daryl. "Understood?"  
  
"Yeh." Yeh, they understood very well.  
  
Killing the engine, Randy pulled up some distance from the house. The house was dark except for a dim light showing through the curtains at the side.  
  
"Okay. Kurt, you check around back for a door. Daryl, you take the other side there, make sure it's secure. I'll knock at the door. When they open up, I'll go in; you two follow. I'll keep whoever answers the door occupied; Daryl, you check the rest of the downstairs; Kurt, you go upstairs. Remember, this is an isolated area - watch out for heroes. Get anyone you find downstairs. Once we've got them secured, we'll bring Sam in. Got it?"  
  
"Randy, why the commando tactics? Maybe if we just ask for help..."  
  
"Then maybe they'll let four strange men into their home in the middle of the night? Sure, that's going to happen. Just do what you're told. No problems, remember?"  
  
For a moment, Kurt was sorely tempted to take Randy down. He was getting out of control. It was one thing to deal with a crooked mechanic, quite another to terrorize an innocent family. But then he looked at Randy, who was staring right back at him. There was something in his eyes that told Kurt it would be folly to try anything. Kurt knew that if he did get the advantage over Randy, he would only try to contain the man. But if Randy ever got the upper hand, Kurt would be dead. Probably Daryl, too. And then what would happen to that family inside the house? And quite frankly, even with Daryl helping, he knew their combat skills were far from honed. If they tried anything, someone would end up dead.  
  
"All right, Randy. But so help me God, if any of these people get hurt..."  
  
"Yeh, gotcha, Kurt." There was little acquiescence in Randy's voice, more disdain. But at least the warning was there. If Randy really didn't want any problems, he would have to consider Kurt's words.  
  
The three men stepped quietly out of the van and moved hurriedly toward the house. When Kurt and Daryl were in place, Randy stepped to the door, Sam's gun held behind him. His knock was answered by a middle-aged man in his stocking-feet, shotgun in hand.  
  
"Hi, there." Randy flashed a dazzling smile. "I wonder if I might have a word with you..." he pulled his gun swiftly to the front, pointing it directly in the man's face, "...inside..."  
  
*****  
  
The sun was still just a suggestion below the horizon when Hannibal crept up to the back door of Maggie's house. BA and Murdock had assured him that, although they had seen some signs of activity around the house throughout the night, no one was watching it right now. Apparently Face's pursuers assumed he would not make an attempt at contact during the day. Proved one thing - they definitely didn't know Face.  
  
Despite reassurances to the contrary, Hannibal still kept a close eye on the perimeter. He waited by the garage for several moments before venturing across the short expanse of yard to the back door. He didn't bother knocking, but rather clumsily picked the lock and stepped quietly in. Face had tried and tried to show him the finer points of lock-picking, but he'd never really gotten it. Why bother, when Face was so good at it? Something he would rectify when he had Face back with them. They would all start learning a few things from each other. Long overdue...  
  
Bringing his thoughts back to the matter at hand, he stepped through the kitchen and headed for Maggie's bedroom. He remembered the creak on that one step, and stretched over it to the next. He knew the door tended to stick a little, too, so he gave it a firm but controlled push when he opened it. Thank God Maggie was a heavy sleeper. She kept the phone by the bed, the ringer at high for just that reason. He remembered that all too well.  
  
He bent swiftly over the bed, his hand going firmly but gently over Maggie's mouth. Her eyes slammed open, staring wildly at the man standing over her. Seconds later she relaxed; damn, she started crying, softly.  
  
"Hey, Maggie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you that bad."  
  
"Scared? Oh, John, you can be so dumb sometimes..."  
  
*****  
  
BA and Murdock were waiting at the edge of the property, waiting for Hannibal's signal. Once that came, BA would go back and get Frankie and the van, while Murdock went ahead to the house. The van would be hidden in an old shed and the team would be safely ensconced in the house to await Face. BA was getting impatient when Hannibal didn't signal right away.  
  
"BA, c'mon, big guy. He and Maggie haven't seen each other in months, remember?" Murdock winked at BA suggestively.  
  
"Shut up, fool! Don't wanna hear 'bout it." BA scowled, but Murdock caught that little twinkle in his eye. BA wasn't as priggish as he liked the team to think. Murdock grinned as BA settled down to wait. BA just scowled even harder at him.  
  
It was maybe 10 minutes later that Hannibal finally raised the shade of the upper story window. All clear. BA grunted and headed back toward the van without another word. Murdock scampered quickly across the clearing and through the back door. It wasn't until he had shut the door firmly behind him that he relaxed, realizing only then how tense he had been for the last few days. Now he was somewhere familiar, somewhere relatively safe. Once BA and Frankie were just as safely in the house he would feel much better. But only when he had Face within arm's reach would he feel truly whole. Then the team would be one again.  
  
He was startled out of his reverie by the arrival of Hannibal and Maggie. Maggie looked flushed and happy, even though it was tinged with apprehension. Hannibal had obviously told her why they were here, and about the other men who had been watching her house.  
  
"Hello, Murdock. It's so good to see you again, even under these circumstances." She gave him a big hug.  
  
"Thanks, Maggie. It's good to be back. Hopefully we'll all be home soon."  
  
BA and Frankie arrived a few minutes later. BA also received a big hug, which embarrassed him to no end, although he appreciated it. Maggie hesitated a moment before giving Frankie a hug, also.  
  
"It's nice to meet you, Frankie. Hannibal told me how you helped save their lives. I'm very grateful to you for that."  
  
Frankie blushed, almost as embarrassed as BA had been a moment before. "Hey, doc, I'd do it again in a minute."  
  
Maggie quickly made coffee, while Hannibal and Murdock started breakfast. They talked as they worked and ate, bringing Maggie up to date on what they knew, while she filled in some of the blanks from her experiences. Maggie had mixed feelings about the possibility of Face showing up. On the one hand, she would be so relieved to know he was safely back with the team; on the other, she worried about these other men and how far they would go in order to recapture him. She half-listened to the men as they started discussing various scenarios, and what they could possibly do to gain and maintain control of the situation. It dawned on her suddenly how really vulnerable they all were.  
  
She and the team were essentially prisoners in her house. While she would be free to come and go, there was no doubt she would be followed wherever she went. Even if Hank's added rounds put a damper on the activity, there was no way he could keep them at bay for long. When Face showed up, it would mean the battlefield would be her house. They would have the element of surprise on their side, but only for the initial onslaught. After that, they would be fighting cornered. No where to run, no back door.  
  
"Everything depends on Face." Hannibal lit a cigar, sitting back in his chair and sighing in frustration. "If he realizes the place is being watched, which I have no doubt he will, he may decide to try and sneak in anyway. If he's healthy, I have no doubt he can do it. If he's not...I don't know. He might decide not to come in at all. That would be safer for him, safer for us, and definitely safer for Maggie. But it would also mean we'd be back to square one as far as finding him. Damn.  
  
"Well, all we can do is prepare for the first choice. Make damn sure we're as fortified as we can be. Try and figure out an escape plan, one that keeps Maggie safe as well."  
  
Their thoughts were interrupted by Maggie's phone. Frowning, she hurried to answer it. It was still early, which probably meant some kind of emergency.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hello, Dr. Sullivan. Jack Potter here. Say, Emily's come down with something, feeling real bad, having a hard time breathing. I hate to ask you, but d'you suppose you could come out and take a look at her? I'd bring her in but the car's not too reliable lately..."  
  
"Oh, Jack, um, yeh, I think I could do that. I can be there in 15, 20 minutes."  
  
"Okay, doc. Thanks a lot."  
  
Maggie hung up the phone and headed back to the kitchen. She quickly explained what had happened. Hannibal wasn't happy about it, not liking her going out by herself but there was little he could do other than admonish her to be careful and watch her back.  
  
Maggie hurried to her car and carefully drove away, watching for any strange cars. As far as she could tell, no one followed out into the countryside.  
  
*****  
  
Jack Potter hung up the phone, letting out a long breath.  
  
"She's on her way, maybe 15 minutes."  
  
Randy smiled.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal stared out of the window, watching the sun slowly rising above the tree line. He was worried about Maggie. He knew she often made house calls. She was in the midst of farms and ranches; necessity didn't always allow people time off to run to the doctor's office. But under the circumstances, he looked at everything with suspicion. Not that there was anything he could do about this; not directly. But he could do something.  
  
"Sheriff's office, Hank here."  
  
"Hank, this is Hannibal. Listen, do you know a Jack Potter?"  
  
Hank sighed. It was too damn early in the morning to be dealing with Smith. Especially after last night. "Yeh, Smith, I know him. Why?  
  
"He called Maggie this morning. She went out there on a house call. I was wondering if you could take a quick run over there, just check things out."  
  
Hank was skeptical. "You think it's a setup? I can't believe Jack would have anything to do with these guys, Smith. He's lived here longer than Maggie or me. And why get her out there? They'd want Maggie where Peck could find her."  
  
"I know, it's probably nothing, but, still..."  
  
"Okay, Smith. I'll run out there. How long ago did she leave?"  
  
"Maybe 15 minutes. I gather she should be arriving there right about now."  
  
"Yeh, she should. I'll call you, let you know what I find out."  
  
"Thanks, Hank." Hannibal hung up the phone, looking up to see BA, Murdock, and Frankie all looking at him curiously. He shrugged. "Just a precaution, guys. Can't hurt."  
  
No one said a word, but BA's scowl and Murdock's rolled eyes told him they weren't buying it.  
  
*****  
  
Maggie pulled up to the ramshackle farmhouse. Strange, Jack hadn't come out to the porch. As often as she'd been out here, professionally and personally, Jack always met her on the porch and showed her the way in. Just the way he was. Emily must be worse than Jack had let on. She hurried up to the door, not noticing that the dog wasn't barking at her heels. She knocked firmly on the door.  
  
A man she didn't know answered. Her immediate reaction was alarm; she had the sudden urge to turn and run for her car. Then she saw the gun. Pointed, not at her, but just to her side. She looked at the man's face closely. He smiled at her, almost apologetically, through the screen door.  
  
"Dr. Sullivan? Please don't be alarmed. We don't want to hurt you. But we need a doctor, and things are a little, well, unsettled in town right now." He opened the screen door with his free hand, almost inviting rather than demanding that she enter. Again he smiled. "I promise, Doctor, you help us out and you can go. No one's going to get hurt."  
  
Reluctantly she stepped past him into the entryway. She looked questioningly at him and he pointed up the stairs. He followed behind, close, but not too close. At the top of the stairs, she again looked at him and he pointed to a door to the right. She moved toward it, the man staying at the top of the steps this time. She knocked softly, not wanting to startle whoever might be on the other side. A muffled voice told her to enter. She pushed the door slowly open.  
  
A man stood by the window, holding a gun. An insolent smile was on his face, eyes cold as ice. Another man lay on the bed, obviously desperately ill, from the flushed face and restless movements. She stared from one to the other, speechless. When she finally found her voice, she could only utter one word.  
  
"Face...?"


	41. Chapter 41

Hank drove slowly, not giving Hannibal's concerns a lot of respect. A man who'd been on the run for as long as Smith had, got to be paranoid. Made mountains out of molehills. Hank had no concerns as far as Jack Potter was concerned. Living out so far, so isolated, Potter had become very independent, almost to a fault. If he had problems with something or someone, he would take care of it himself, never called Hank until it was all over. Sometimes Hank had a problem with that, most times not. Jack wasn't a violent man, neither were those two boys of his. But they didn't have a problem pulling out the shotguns if needed, either. Usually they didn't need to, but on occasion Maggie'd been called on to pull some buckshot out of a local kid, and Hank usually didn't have to ask where it came from. So he wasn't too worried about any of these 'agents' pulling anything out here.  
  
He pulled into the long driveway and headed toward the house. He saw Maggie's car sitting in the front, Jack's old pickup next to the barn. All seemed quiet. Which was a little strange. Jack, or one of his sons, should be coming out the door. Someone always met visitors outside the house. Hank chuckled. Friendly as could be once they knew you, just the same the Potter's never let any one just walk up to the house. The chuckle died in his throat as he thought about that. It was odd no one was out and about. Maybe Smith's 'feelings' weren't so far afield after all.  
  
Hank pulled the car around, so he was facing the road. He sat in the car, watching the house carefully. Someone should've come out of the house by now. He got on the radio, waiting for his deputy to respond. If he was going to walk into trouble out here, he was damn sure going to let someone know it.  
  
"Jennings here, Hank. What's up?"  
  
Hank sighed. Jennings was a good deputy, but he just would not stick to radio protocol. "I'm out here at Potter's, Jennings. Things don't look quite right. Stop by Maggie's; Smith is there. Let him know what's going on. If I don't call back in 15 minutes or so, you best get out here in force."  
  
"You want backup now, Hank? I'm not that far."  
  
"No, don't want to panic over nothing. Doc Sullivan's out here so it may be the family's just occupied. Over."  
  
Hank stepped slowly out of the car, stretched his back a little as he took one more look around the farmyard. He walked up to the door, putting on a casual act. Didn't want to alarm anyone who might be inside. Before he could knock, the door was opened. And Hank really wished he'd taken Smith more seriously.  
  
The man with the gun pointed at him smiled, but it was more grimace than smile. "Hello, Sheriff. Come on in."  
  
*****  
  
'Face?' What the hell did that mean? For a second, Randy wondered if he wanted this woman looking at Sam or not. But Sam had wanted to go here; he seemed to think this woman would help them both. Well, okay. Strange, yes; competent? Sam had thought so. That would have to be enough.  
  
"My friend was hit by a car a few days ago. He's been in a hospital, left day before yesterday. He had a rough trip here, obviously. His records are by the bed. His name's Sam, by the way." The doctor looked at Randy; she looked puzzled by something. "Is there a problem, doc?"  
  
"No, I mean, uh, I..." the doctor stumbled over her words, "uh, why did he leave the hospital?" She started moving toward the bed, concern replacing the puzzlement on her face.  
  
"Things got a little complicated. Doesn't matter now. I just need you to make sure he's okay." She seemed a lot more in control now, checking Sam's vitals. She did glance at Randy every now and then; or rather, at the gun in his hand.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you, doc. This is just insurance, y'know?"  
  
She didn't respond right away, busied herself looking through Sam's hospital records. Finally, while trying to look at his x-rays by the light from the window, she glanced directly him. "I like to know who I'm dealing with. What do they call you?"  
  
He smiled at her. Now she was starting to sound like a person he could work with. "Name's Randy. Sam seemed to know about you, that's why we came here." He left the question unasked. He wanted to see how she responded.  
  
"He knew about me? And you didn't?"  
  
Hmm. What did she mean by that? The woman was starting to intrigue him. "Do you think I should have?"  
  
Again, she didn't answer right away. Instead she started digging through her bag, pulling out a syringe and small bottle. As she fitted the needle into the bottle, she looked at him. "You came here only on his say-so? You must have a lot of trust in him."  
  
It wasn't an answer, really. She was skirting around something. "Yeh, I trust him. To a point. More than I do most people, anyway." She nodded her head, as if confirming something. "You know him, do you?"  
  
Again, that silence before answering. The doctor liked to think things through before opening her mouth. She was about to answer when there was a knock at the bedroom door.  
  
"Randy? We got company."  
  
Immediately the easy-going manner disappeared. Randy tensed, moving carefully between the doctor and the door. "Who is it?"  
  
"Local sheriff. Kurt's got him downstairs with the rest. He was on the radio before he came in, Randy. I think we got a problem."  
  
Randy looked over at Dr. Sullivan, who had looked up, alarmed at the mention of the sheriff.  
  
"You know about this? You call anyone before coming up here?" His voice was calm, but stern.  
  
"No, I didn't call anyone. I don't know why he's out here. Really." She swallowed, nervous. "You won't hurt him?"  
  
"Not if I don't have to. But we're gonna have to leave. Get him ready. You, too. You're going along."  
  
"Oh, now wait a minute..."  
  
He pointed the gun directly into her face. "One thing you gotta learn, doc. You don't argue with me. Ever. Now get him ready." He stepped out of the room, and locked the door. He was feeling frustrated and angry. This should have been so simple.  
  
"Okay." He glared at Daryl as he stepped past him, moving down the stairs. "Get these people down in the basement. Tie 'em up good and tight. Then get the van. We're leaving."  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"We're not leaving him. The doctor's coming along to take care of him."  
  
"Where are we going, Randy?"  
  
Randy stopped, stared off into space. Smiled, just a little.  
  
"Where we should have gone in the beginning."

'Where I belong...'


	42. Chapter 42

Maggie slipped the needle in quickly and precisely. She didn't like doing this sort of thing, under any circumstances, but recognized the necessity right now for sedation. If they were going to be moving him, he would need as much pain relief as possible. The next injection was also necessary but for a much more important reason - there was obviously some sort of infection working through his system, and antibiotics had to be started as quickly as possible, before things got critical. She hoped she wasn't already too late. She looked down at him, watching as the pain killers worked their magic and his face slowly relaxed.  
  
Sam. And Randy. She had to remember the names. Had to keep them straight. No more slipups. She'd seen the look Randy had given her when she blurted out 'Face'. The confusion, the suspicion. Whatever was going on with these men, Face, as he had been, was not part of it. Had that hospital had something to do with that? Had it happened before that, after the fake execution? Was it only more cloak and dagger crap? Maggie wished she knew more, that Carla had told her more. Now she was right in the middle of it, not just a peripheral player, and saying the wrong thing could be disastrous.  
  
God, she wished she could talk to him. But just from looking at him it was obvious that Face was lost to her, at least for the foreseeable future. She had no idea if he would - or could - come back. So she faced a dangerous quandary. Randy wanted to know if Maggie knew Sam. How she answered could determine if he would trust her or not. When she didn't know if she could trust him. She was in totally uncharted territory here.  
  
Maggie sighed. She hated to admit it, but this Randy scared her. Not because of the gun. She'd gotten used to those. It was his very demeanor, the intensity, the coldness. So unlike anyone she'd known before. Even those bikers had not been so cold. Brutal, yes, but not like this man. Beneath that exterior calm and control, there was something...explosive. His reactions were almost too quick. Too vehement. Instinctively, Maggie knew Randy was on the very edge of self control. She'd seen Face lose his self control only once. The team had come to her to lick their wounds after a very hard job. And she'd seen it coming, just like this. He'd been pushed and pushed and finally pushed too far. Randy was very close to that same point. It would take very little to shove him over. And she didn't like to think what that could mean.  
  
With that in mind, how would she answer Randy's questions about Sam? Tell the truth? Lie? Which would make him trust her? Which would set him off? Either way, it was bound to lead to more and more questions, and how to answer those? Would what she said match what he expected? What he knew? What if it didn't? What if it did?  
  
And what about Sam? What part had he really played in this whole thing? Obviously he had a great deal of influence over Randy, even when ill. Had he had any real control over him, or was he just someone Randy respected enough to listen to? Maggie could tell Sam was important to Randy, very important, or he wouldn't have gone to all of this trouble for him. Randy didn't seem like he would go to a lot of trouble for anyone. If only Face were 'here' for her; she knew Face and what he would do. She didn't know either of these men. They were both strangers to her.  
  
And then those other two - Kurt, she thought, and Daryl. The only two she really felt she had a handle on, although a very thin one. She was sure they were the ones working for Carla. Or that had worked for her. Carla had washed her hands of the whole affair - or so she said. So why were these two sticking around? Was there something Carla wanted them to do before they, too, abandoned this pair? Or was there something else going on? She remembered that smile on Kurt's face when he met her at the door. That was definitely no machine following orders. There was something protective in his manner. Thinking about Randy, she thought maybe Kurt and Daryl were staying because of that. Because they, too, knew the detonation was coming, and wanted to be there to pick up the pieces. Or maybe stop it from happening altogether. If they could...  
  
So many questions buzzing around in her head she felt it spinning. If only John were here. He would know what to do, what she should do.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal listened as Jennings told the men what Hank had reported. His mind was whirling with possibilities. It was obvious to him that Maggie had walked into something. And now Hank right along with her. As he quickly looked at and discarded the various scenarios, he knew suddenly who was behind this. Who else needed to reach Maggie and couldn't? Who could come up with something so normal, so natural? No one would think anything strange about Maggie going on a house call. She might be followed, sure, but once she arrived at a farm where the family had lived there for years...it was a classic Mohammed/mountain scenario. He kicked himself mentally for not thinking about it earlier. He'd been so worried about how Face would get to Maggie's without being caught. Face hadn't even tried. He'd just done what any good tactician would do.  
  
Hannibal grinned at the other men. Murdock and BA stared at him only for a moment before it dawned on them. Murdock twirled around, laughing out loud. BA actually smiled. Frankie and Jennings stared at them as if they'd gone nuts.  
  
"Face! It's Face, Frankie!" Murdock chortled. "He's scammed himself a place where Maggie could come without anyone thinking twice about it. Man, he hasn't lost his touch!" Murdock laughed out loud. They were going to find Face now, they knew where he was. All they had to do was go and collect him. After all this time, they would have him back where he belonged! "So when do we leave, Hannibal?"  
  
"Well, that's a problem." Immediately the elation died. "If we take off right now, we could lead Stockwell and these other goons right to him. And we don't know what the circumstances are that made Maggie necessary."  
  
"So we aren't going out there?" Murdock was devastated. To be so close...  
  
"I didn't say that. I don't intend to leave him on his own any longer than necessary. We had the advantage with Hank knowing the Potter's so well. I don't think it's going to take much longer before other people want to know what's going on out there. Simply because it's a loose end. So we need to get out there - we just have to be very careful how we do it.  
  
"Jennings, I think you've been here longer than is wise, considering Maggie's not home. When you leave, make a show of checking all the entrances and buildings carefully. Don't take a long time, but be thorough. Gives an excuse for your being here. Then I want you to head out to Potter's. But don't go to the house. Find a place you can keep an eye on things without being conspicuous. And if any vehicles are behind you for any length of time, don't go. Circle around a bit, and then head out there. Just remember these guys are real pro's - and we don't know what they're willing to do."  
  
Jennings nodded his head. This was serious business. Despite Smith's confidence, he wasn't willing to accept his theories on the Potter mess. He was worried not only about Maggie, but about Hank. But he also realized that Smith was better equipped to run this show than he was. He would do what he was told, and keep his fingers crossed.  
  
After the deputy left, Hannibal started pacing, cigar smoke following him like steam from an old train. Not for the first time, he wished BA's van wasn't quite so conspicuous. They needed to get out to that farm. For some reason, Hannibal felt a sense of urgency in that. Well, there was no other way. It would mean a delay, but that's why he'd sent Jennings out there first.  
  
"Okay, guys, we're gonna have to create just a small stir among our friends out there. We don't want to be too obvious, but we want them to see us and follow us - in the opposite direction from the Potter's. We'll lead them out a few miles, then lose them. Swing around the perimeter and then head for the farm. With luck, they'll think we've gotten a lead on Face. With phenomenal luck, they'll send all their people after us. In reality, I figure they'll send a couple cars each and see where we're going. Enough to keep them away from Potter's."  
  
He looked at his men, eyes sparkling. "So, shall we go collect our lieutenant?"  
  
*****  
  
Maggie watched out of the upstairs window as the gray van pulled up to the house. It wasn't exactly the kind of vehicle she expected to see Face using. But then, most of what she'd seen this day was not exactly Face. A few moments later, the door was unlocked and Randy stepped in.  
  
"He ready?"  
  
"Yes, but I want to look at that van before we go."  
  
"Why? What's wrong with it?" There was that hint of anger again. Actually, a bit more than a hint, and a bit more than just anger.  
  
"I just want to see the kind of ride he's going to have. I don't want any more damage done." She dared to challenge him. It wasn't just for show - no way she would have her patient injured further.  
  
Randy wavered for just a moment. "Okay, fine. Just make it quick. We don't have much time."  
  
Kurt and Daryl were in the upstairs hallway, waiting to take Sam downstairs. Maggie took one look at their empty hands and stopped dead.  
  
"You have a stretcher?"  
  
"No, we..."  
  
"Get one. Somewhere. You can't just drag him around like a sack of flour." She stalked down the stairs. Randy glared after her. He turned to the two men.  
  
"You heard the doctor. Find something. Now."  
  
Kurt and Daryl watched Randy follow Maggie down the stairs. She was pushing things; they could tell by the way Randy's shoulders were stiffening. They hurried downstairs to find something to use as a stretcher.  
  
Outside, Maggie had swung the van's side door open. She looked at the large cushions covering the back floor. That would not do.  
  
"We need something stiffer, something that gives his body more support. Those cushions just amplify every bump in the road. I think that mattress from his bed will fit. It's firm enough."  
  
"You want us to haul the mattress from upstairs and put it in this van?"  
  
"That's right. You have a problem with that?" Maggie stared him down. "I thought you wanted him taken care of."  
  
For a moment, Maggie was afraid she'd pushed too far. Randy was visibly trembling, his face pale, eyes like ice. She watched the visual effort it took for him to regain his calm facade.  
  
"Ok. We'll get the mattress in there. And then you'd better make damn sure he's comfortable for the ride, lady. Because if he isn't..." He turned and practically marched into the house, shouting for Kurt and Daryl.  
  
He'd left her alone. With her car keys. For a split second, Maggie was tempted to flee. Then she thought about Sam. No way. There was just no way she could desert him. She stood by the van, waiting, keeping quiet as the mattress was dragged down and forced into the van. She kept quiet as Sam was carried down on a camp cot, and lifted carefully into back. And she maintained her silence as they all climbed in and the van pulled away from the house. She would not push Randy any further that day. Not if she could help it. But she would also remember that he had made a mistake...  
  
*****  
  
The black van was moving somewhat cautiously along the outskirts of Bad Rock. They'd already picked up one vehicle, nondescript, staying back, almost out of sight. BA picked up the pace just a little, hoping to draw at least a couple more. They had to get these dudes thinking that Face had fled, or not even come here. That the team knew where he really was and was heading there.  
  
They reached the very edge of town and gained some speed. They picked up another car. BA noted they were working the surveillance together. Could be Stockwell, could be the other guys.  
  
The phone in the van sounded off. Hannibal picked it up quickly, expecting a report from Jennings.  
  
"We got a problem, Smith."  
  
"Hank? What the...?" A third vehicle pulled onto the road. All keeping a discreet distance. A little jockeying among them, then dropping into a coordinated, cautious pursuit.  
  
"They've gone, Smith. Jennings just got here and cut us loose. They had the whole family tied up, and me, in the basement while they packed up and left. Took Maggie with them. Jennings saw them, came down to the house to see what was up."  
  
"Tied up! Face did that?"  
  
"Not himself, no. But who else would set something like this up? And why else take Maggie? I don't think we're talking about some random kidnappers here."  
  
Hank had finally reached the same conclusion Hannibal had. "How long ago did they leave?"  
  
"Maybe 10, 15 minutes. Headed west on 76."  
  
Damn it to hell!  
  
Hannibal was leading the enemy right to their quarry.


	43. Chapter 43

"BA! Take the next turn. I don't care where it goes. We gotta get these guys off this highway, now. Take 'em for a ride, Sergeant!"  
  
BA hadn't heard all of the conversation but he didn't question the change in plans. A gravel road peeked up through the weeds to the left and BA swung wildly into it. The dust cloud behind them would help keep their pursuers on track. The road was rough and BA couldn't go as fast as he'd like, but one couldn't tell by the bouncing around his passengers were doing. They rounded a curve, and he could see increasing dust where the other cars were following, no longer trying to be discreet. Good.  
  
"What's going on, Hannibal?" Murdock's voice was as rough as the road they were on.  
  
"Something's gone wrong at the Potter's. The men there tied up the family and Hank and took off with Maggie. They were headed right down the same highway we were on."  
  
"They tied up the family? Why?"  
  
"I don't know, Murdock. It doesn't make sense. Face wouldn't do that. So now I have to think that he's the reason they were at that hospital and somebody else is calling the shots."  
  
"Maggie said he was traveling with three other guys, didn't she?"  
  
"Yeh. One, from the beginning of this whole mess. The other two, probably Carla's. I don't think Ables would resort to tying innocent people up unless they were ordered to, which leaves that other guy. The one Maggie said had been traveling with Face from the beginning."  
  
"Doesn't sound like someone Face would be sticking with, though."  
  
"There's so much going on here that doesn't sound like Face. I'd really like to have Stockwell here right now. I'd get some answers out of him. Or Carla. Either one would suit me."  
  
BA growled. "Hang on. Time to lose these guys."  
  
They were moving into an area of tall trees and rocky hills, scattered with small private driveways and cutbacks. BA took the curves and hills with calm precision, suddenly making a tight turn at a crossroads. Turning into a hard packed road that led up into the hills themselves, he shoved the accelerator down, practically vaulting up the hill. He roared through the trees, close to the narrow road, concentrating on the curving path. Murdock and Hannibal watched behind them, waiting for some sign that one of the other cars had seen them take the turn. BA finally pulled up near the top of the hill.  
  
Murdock hopped out and scurried to a clearance in the trees, where he could see for miles. He saw the cars on the road below - they were still moving, but starting to slow, gathering together. He ran back to the van.  
  
"They're slowing down but there's a million places they'll have to look for us. We're good to go, Colonel."  
  
Without a word, BA maneuvered the van down the road, moving quickly back toward the highway. Back to Face.  
  
*****  
  
The first few miles, Randy drove well within the speed limit, watching carefully what vehicles they met, which ones they passed, any waiting at crossroads. He forced himself to forget the demands that bitch had made on him. Forced the calm. When he'd come back out of the house, he'd actually been surprised that she was still there. He'd hidden the anger he felt at himself for walking off and leaving her free to take off like he had. That was stupid. Just plain stupid. At least she'd had brains enough to keep her mouth shut after that. If she had said one more fucking word to him...  
  
He glanced in the rearview mirror. He had adjusted it so he could keep an eye on Sam while he drove. The bitch had given him a sedative for the ride, but Randy kept watching for problems anyway. Occasionally his eyes strayed to her. He didn't trust her. He didn't like the way she'd evaded his questions. He didn't like her, period. No way she would stay with them for the whole trip. Once Sam was feeling better, she was gone. Gone.  
  
A wave of exhaustion swept over him. He blinked, stretched his shoulders. No time for that. No time for anything except putting as much distance as possible between them and Bad Rock. Appropriate name for that piece of shit town. He didn't know why he'd let Sam talk him into coming here to begin with. Look what it had cost them. Him. The whole damn town crawling with those people. And Sam. He glanced once more toward the back of the van. The bitch was checking his pulse. Again. She better not have screwed up that sedative.  
  
Damn, he wished he had gotten more sleep last night. He'd been so pumped when they got to the farm, it had taken forever to relax once it was over with. The family secure in the living room, Kurt taking first watch. Daryl had sacked out in one bedroom while Randy had stayed in Sam's room. Sam had not had a good night at all. Randy had done what he could to make him comfortable, tried to cool him down with cold damp cloths, given him aspirin. Nothing seemed to work. Randy had felt so helpless. He hated that. He hated to see his friend in pain. It wasn't right. Sam had done so much for him, and now he could only sit by that bed and watch him suffer. No one should suffer like that.  
  
Kurt had come in some time later. Daryl was watching the family now and Kurt wanted Randy to get some sleep. He still didn't know about those two. They seemed okay. But that didn't mean anything. He knew how easy it was to pretend. But they did seem genuinely concerned about Sam. That counted for something. He'd gone into the bedroom Daryl had just vacated, lain down, attempted to sleep. Although he'd been wiped out, he couldn't get to sleep. Not right away. And when he did, that dream had come again. But different. So different this time.  
  
He was on a beach, finally. He could hear the waves breaking against the rocks, smell the special odor of salt water, feel the breeze in his hair. He grinned, knowing he would finally find his friends. He would be whole again. And then he saw them. Walking along the shore, waves lapping at their feet as they moved slowly away from him. He called to them to wait, please wait, he was coming, he was back. But they kept moving away. He started running, but his feet sank into the wet sand and the waves got higher, pushing against him, slowing him down. He saw one of them turn and look back at him. He waved and shouted again for them to wait. The man turned his back and started walking into the waves. The others turned slowly and followed. They moved farther and farther into the froth, the water reaching up higher and higher. Randy kept shouting, his voice turning hoarse. He stumbled, fell, felt the waves pushing him back, as he watched, horrified, as his friends slowly sank into the water. The last man turned and looked back at him. Randy still couldn't see his face clearly but he somehow 'saw' the expression. Felt it, almost. Disappointment. Anger. Disgust. And then the man disappeared under the water. The sand disappeared, the ocean ceased to exist, and Randy was in a jungle. Hot. Raining. Nam. He woke, sweating and trembling, frightened at the change. They knew...  
  
Daryl abruptly brought him back to the present. He was pointing to the side. A long row of dust was drifting from one of the side roads. It was an oddity in this otherwise empty landscape. Local kids drag racing? Who knew? He made a note of it as he turned his attention back to the road ahead of him. As long as they didn't come his way, he didn't really care. There was only one thing he cared about right now. He had to explain. He had to find them and make them understand. He concentrated on that.  
  
He didn't see the dark van emerge from the dust, tearing down the road toward the highway.  
  
*****  
  
John Clifton and Able 17 sat on the bench at the park, sipping coffee from plastic cups. They had gathered here with their men after the debacle with the team. Neither had said anything of consequence yet, only waited silently for their coffee, watching their men warily co-mingling with each other.  
  
Able 17 finally spoke up.  
  
"Appreciate the phone call. I understand the chance you took there."  
  
"Logistics. The more trained people I have, the better my chances. Barish doesn't always understand that."  
  
They were silent for a few more minutes. Again, it was Able 17 who spoke first.  
  
"We have to get something settled between us, John. Some decisions need to be made now, before things reach a point where there's no more time for discussion."  
  
"Your objective versus mine."  
  
"Exactly. To a point, they're the same. But..."  
  
"But then yours becomes a retrieval, mine becomes a cleanup. One jeopardizes the other. One of us must fail."  
  
"Not necessarily, John." Able 17 looked around, determined no one else was close enough to hear. "It's possible for us both to win." Clifton looked at him, saying nothing. "I've been in your shoes, John. Trying to put the actual job aside, concentrating only on your orders. It's not easy. It takes a special kind of person to do that over and over. I don't think you're that kind of person. No more than I was."  
  
Clifton still remained silent. He wanted to hear all that the other man had to say.  
  
"Dr. Barish is powerful, John, but he's on the way out. This whole project has become an albatross around his neck. You know that. He wouldn't need your group if that weren't so. Stockwell, on the other hand, is going to come out smelling like a rose. His only possible loss is the A-Team, and he could survive that very well. If, however, the team was retrieved, he would be very grateful for any assistance he received. Very grateful." Able 17 looked at Clifton. "You wouldn't have to do cleanups any more, John. Stockwell would find a good spot for you in his organization. You, and any of your people you felt comfortable bringing along.  
  
"Stockwell has a lot of operations going, John. In a lot of places. Lots of opportunities for the right man. All it would take is for you to turn your back at the right moment. You wouldn't have to 'do' anything. Except let me do my job."  
  
Clifton looked around, casually. Sipped his coffee. Outside, he was calm, almost disinterested. Inside, he was in turmoil. He'd gotten through each job he'd been assigned by convincing himself it was best for his country, but he'd hated it. Every minute of it. Unfortunately, he was also very good at it. Very much in demand. From various agencies. Barish may be on his way out, but did that necessarily mean Clifton had a real choice in where he worked?  
  
"It's a bit more complicated than that, you know. I don't work exclusively for Barish, or even his agency. I'm not sure I could leave that easily."  
  
Relieved that Clifton had not dismissed him immediately, Able 17 plunged forward. "Stockwell works with the government very closely, John. If he wants you in his organization, the government will leave you alone. I guarantee it. The choice is yours. Only yours."  
  
He watched as Clifton contemplated the possibilities. He didn't take the man's hesitation lightly. It was a huge risk. Barish may be on his way out, but the agency he worked for was still powerful. Cleanup was SOP for them. Failure would not be looked on kindly. But Able 17 had confidence in his own employer. The man had something on everyone. It was only his discretion that kept some people in power, some agencies running without interference.  
  
Finally Clifton straightened. Looked around once more.  
  
"You realize I can't speak for all of my people. I know which ones will follow my lead, which ones won't. You'll have to deal with those who will concentrate on the original orders."  
  
"I can handle that."  
  
Clifton smiled, an almost bitter smile. "You know, with people like you around, they almost don't need Barish and his experiments."  
  
"I don't think they need them at all."  
  
*****  
  
"Hank, anything?"  
  
"No, Smith. We covered the area right up to the county line. No sign of the van. And no other vehicles I don't already know. I think they got away."  
  
"Okay. We're going to keep going. They've got to stop sometime. When they do, we'll be right on top of them."  
  
"Just be careful, Smith. Who knows what they might do. Maggie..."  
  
"I know, Hank. Let's just not forget who the good guys are in this. They might be desperate, but they are the good guys."  
  
Hannibal hung up the phone, pulled out a cigar. The others were watching the road ahead, as if expecting the gray van to magically appear in front of them. Hannibal did a quick calculation. They couldn't be more than a half hour behind.  
  
"Pick it up, BA."  
  
The black van surged ahead, racing to catch up with their teammate.


	44. Chapter 44

Hank stepped into his office, wanting nothing more than to have a good cup of coffee and a sandwich. Jennings was right behind him, still riled at the treatment his boss and the Potter's had suffered. Good guys, huh? He'd wanted to put an APB out on that van first thing, but Hank had vetoed it. The last thing he wanted was to add yet another bunch hunting these guys.  
  
Jennings almost ran into Hank's back when the sheriff stopped suddenly just inside the door. He looked over Hank's shoulder and saw a man sitting at Hank's desk. Three other guys were standing just to the side. They didn't look happy.  
  
Hank had a really bad feeling about these guys. He turned carefully to Jennings.  
  
"Why don't you go on over to Rosie's and get yourself something to eat? I'll meet you over there in a bit."  
  
"You sure, Hank?" Jennings swallowed hard. He hadn't had to deal with anything more than parking tickets since he'd become a deputy, and these guys looked...well, dangerous.  
  
"Yeh, I'm sure. Git." He practically shoved Jennings out the door, closing it firmly behind him. He looked at the man sitting at his desk.  
  
"You want something, mister? 'Cause this isn't exactly the way to get my cooperation."  
  
"I don't usually worry about cooperation, Sheriff. I usually get what I want regardless."  
  
Dr. Barish smiled. It was not a nice smile...  
  
*****  
  
"Okay, BA, I think that's them. Keep back. We don't want to spook 'em." Hannibal leaned forward in his seat, as BA glared at the unintended insult. Murdock was watching Hannibal as much as the small speck that was the van ahead of them. Hannibal was uncharacteristically tense. It worried the pilot. Where was the jazz? He should have been grinning from ear to ear and puffing away at his cigar. Instead, he was frowning in concentration, worry rolling off him in nearly palpable waves.  
  
"Hannibal, you okay?"  
  
"Huh? Yeh, Murdock, I'm fine. Not too close, BA."  
  
BA glanced in the rearview mirror, his scowl telling Murdock he knew something was wrong, too. Hannibal never told him how to drive.  
  
Hannibal had not been himself since the race from the highway to divert the bad guys from Face. What had happened at the Potter's had shaken him. He had been thinking he was going to rescue Face. Now, he had to rethink everything, realizing that he was pursuing a group of men who didn't want to be caught, and probably being led by a stranger who seemed to have very little regard for civilians. A dangerous stranger. He had no idea what Face was doing with them, if he was safe...he was feeling worn down and washed out. It had just been too damn long...  
  
"Hey, Johnnie, it's gonna be okay, okay? BA knows what he's doing." Frankie was the only one brash enough to speak up, and it seemed to be the right thing to do, for once. Hannibal suddenly looked back at him, about to say something, when he noticed Murdock, and then BA, and the looks they were giving him. He sighed, sat back in his seat.  
  
"Sorry, guys. I just...damn it, I've messed things up. This whole Stockwell thing...if I hadn't screwed things up to begin with...God knows what he's gone through because of me...I don't want to mess up again."  
  
"Ain't your fault, Hannibal. It's Stockwell's. You didn't have much choice back then, and we all know it. Face, too. We all agreed to it. Sure, we'd'a done things different if we knew what he had in mind, but we didn't. So no sense blamin yourself. We'll get Face back and get ourselves straightened out and that'll be it."  
  
"I hope so..." Hannibal glanced at his men, seeing immediately the concern at his words. He had to get a grip. They needed to know this would work. They needed to feel confident, even if he didn't. No, he had to feel confident. He had to make this work. There was no room for failure. None.  
  
"This will work, guys." He stared ahead at the gray van, looming larger as they moved up on it. "We will get Face back, intact, and we'll get this team back in gear." He pulled a cigar, lit it, inhaled deeply. "Yeh, we'll get him back."  
  
He felt it then, felt the jazz building, the confidence flowing over him, not coming from within but from his men. He grinned at them, letting them know it was back. That he was on track again. They thought they needed him. If only they knew how much he needed them...  
  
*****  
  
Randy had been watching behind him through the side mirrors. He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd seen someone pulling up behind them. Quite a ways yet. Not unexpected on a highway, of course, but still... He looked at Kurt, who was glancing into the passenger mirror.  
  
"See it?"  
  
"Yeh. May be nothing..."  
  
"Yeh. May not." He looked ahead of him. They were getting closer to LA; another hour or so and they'd be leaving the foothills and moving into the city proper. Randy's heart had been beating rapidly for some time now, the excitement - no, the tension - building up. He was feeling shaky. Scattered. That wasn't good. He needed to calm down. He needed to think.  
  
They would drive straight through LA, head for Redondo Beach. No reason except he liked the name. He'd find someplace to stay there. Just live on the beach for a while if he had to. The others...they could do whatever they wanted. He had to do something with the bitch, too. And Sam. For some reason, he didn't want Sam with him any more. Not now. He had other things he needed to do now. Other things. Other people. Had to find them. Explain...  
  
"Randy! Watch it!" Kurt grabbed the wheel, bringing the van abruptly back onto the roadway. He glared at Randy, who shook his head and took a deep breath.  
  
"I got it, I got it." He forced himself to concentrate on the road again.  
  
"You want me to drive? You've been going for hours now."  
  
Randy took a quick glance in the mirror. The car - no, the van, a black van - was closer now.  
  
"No, we need to lose these guys, whoever they are." He looked back at the bitch and Sam. He had started waking up a little bit ago. He still didn't look very good, but better than he had. He'd have to find a motel or something. Someplace he'd be safe. The bitch was glaring at him. What he wouldn't do to stop the van and...  
  
He pulled his eyes back to the front. Wiped the thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. Pressed on the accelerator. The sooner they reached the maze of LA, the sooner he'd lose that other van. The sooner he could get rid of all of them. The sooner he could find his friends...  
  
*****  
  
The sheriff had been little help. He'd seen two of the men, that was all. Had been tied up the rest of the time. Barish already had men out at the farm, 'talking' to the Potter family. A couple of Stockwell's men along with them. That left only one person. The deputy. He'd actually seen the men leave. Knew which direction they'd gone, what the vehicle looked like. He looked around, spotted the place the deputy had gone. Rosie's. How quaint.  
  
He and his men moved purposefully across the street and into the restaurant. Jennings sat at the back, sipping a cup of coffee. When he saw them enter, his face went pale and he nearly spit out his coffee.  
  
Barish smiled.  
  
*****  
  
Stockwell had personally talked with the security chief. The man certainly knew how to weave his way through the traps. Made it sound as though he'd only been following orders, orders he believed to have come from Stockwell. Not his fault they hadn't. No, according to the chief's version, he could not be blamed for anything. Stockwell respected the man, always had. He would let it go. For now. He'd learned where the men had been dropped off. Ables were already there. Whatever vehicle they'd commandeered, it had to have been in that little wide spot in the road. Shouldn't be difficult at all to find out where, and get a good description. Then he would place a call to the LAPD. A certain captain there.  
  
*****  
  
"I think they've spotted us, Hannibal. He's pickin up speed."  
  
"Okay. Get ready to pull them over. We need to stop them before they get into the city. Face knows it too well."  
  
"I ain't gonna lose 'em. Here, or in LA." BA shot another scowl at Hannibal.  
  
Hannibal grinned at his sergeant. The jazz was strong now, humming through his veins.  
  
"Uh, Johnnie, I thought we were just gonna follow them till they got wherever they were going?"  
  
"If they hadn't spotted us, yeah. But now we gotta step in."  
  
"You know they're not gonna just stop for us."  
  
"Relax, Frankie. They won't want to stop, no. If Face is injured or ill, we'll have to persuade his friends that we're on their side. But once Face knows it's us, it's over." He grinned in anticipation of the reunion, so soon to come.  
  
"Ok, BA. Gently..."  
  
*****  
  
Randy, Kurt and Daryl had all been watching the black van steadily closing in on them. When Randy accelerated, the pursuing vehicle hesitated only a moment, then surged forward.  
  
"Okay, Randy, they're on to us."  
  
"Hang on."  
  
Randy pushed the accelerator to the floor, ignoring the roaring protest of the old engine. The van bucked, not wanting to obey its driver, then surged suddenly forward. Randy seemed unaware of the curves in the road, never letting up on the pedal. He screeched around them, coming perilously close to the guardrails. Kurt let out a yell when he saw the oncoming traffic; Randy jerked to the side, skirting the other vehicles by inches. Never let up on the gas. Kurt stared at him. Randy wasn't even blinking, though little beads of sweat ran down his face.  
  
"Randy, slow down, damn it! You'll kill us all!"  
  
"Fuck that! They're not gonna stop me now. Not now. It's too damn close!"  
  
His passengers hung on for dear life as the van swayed around yet another curve. Daryl, staring out the back window, saw with relief that the black van had slowed.  
  
"Randy, they're slowing down! Let up! We can still lose them, just slow the hell down!"  
  
Randy swept his gaze to the mirror. The van was losing ground, alright. He let up on the pedal minutely. He wasn't about to let them gain any ground again. Thirty minutes later they were pulling out of the hills, gaining the flat land of the LA outskirts. Trees gave away to industry. Traffic got heavier. He couldn't see the black van any more.  
  
He looked around him. LA. He was so close now he could feel it. Feel it humming in his veins.  
  
Home.


	45. Chapter 45

Randy was searching worriedly for a place to drop off his passengers. He hadn't said anything, naturally. But he needed to get rid of them. Soon. The further into LA proper they moved, the more anxious he became. Damn, he wished he could calm down. It felt as if his heart was going to pummel its way right out of his body. And he was hot. So damn hot. His thoughts kept flying back to his dream. His friends. He had to reach them. Had to find them. Had to explain. So they wouldn't desert him again. Again? No, they hadn't deserted him. Ever. That was in the dream. Only the dream. Once they knew the truth, why he'd done it, they'd understand. They wouldn't go away. They wouldn't.  
  
He glanced frantically around him. This van. So damn hot. So damn small. All these people in it. Too many people. Depending on him. Making demands. Dragging him down. Keeping him from his friends. Damn. It was so hot. He couldn't think straight. He glanced in the rear view mirror again, checking Sam. He had awakened a while ago. Had been talking with the bitch. What was he telling her? More important, what was she telling him? He'd seen Daryl talking to her, too. He knew he should've left those two guys behind.  
  
Randy watched the traffic ahead of him. The freeway was getting clogged, the flow slowing down. Damn. Damn! He had to get off this freeway, get onto the side streets. It would be faster that way. Lots faster. He took a quick glance in the side mirror. Still there. They were good, whoever they were. They were also stupid. Did they think he was just going to pull over and surrender to them? Maybe they needed a couple of bodies along the way to get the picture. God knows he had enough of them in this damn van. Starting with that bitch.  
  
He swiped the sweat from his eyes yet again. Damn. It was so hot...  
  
*****  
  
She had watched Sam slowly come out of the sedative a few miles back. Luckily it was after they had finished that catapulting ride down the hillside. Maybe it was the jostling back and forth that had brought him back to consciousness. He'd looked around, confused, anxious. Until he saw her, leaning over him. She'd smiled, reassuring him.  
  
"Sam?" He'd looked at her closely, unsure. "It's Maggie. I'm going to take care of you, don't worry, okay? We're in a van. Your friend, Randy? He's taking us somewhere, I'm not sure where. Kurt and Daryl are here with us. You're going to be okay. You've got an infection of some kind, but I've given you some antibiotics and we'll get it taken care of. You're going to be fine."  
  
"Randy? Is he okay?" His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but firm. "Is he?"  
  
"Is there some reason he shouldn't be okay, Sam?" Maybe she would start getting some answers now, so she knew what to do, what not to do.  
  
"Drugged...A long time...off them now...withdrawal..."  
  
Oh, God, no. Not...an addict? He couldn't...No...and going into withdrawal? Good God! Maggie looked up quickly at Daryl, who was watching them. Had he heard? Did he know?  
  
Daryl looked down at her, concerned but not panicking. "It's a long story, Dr. Sullivan." He spoke softly, a glance to the front letting her know that he did not want Randy to pick up on what he said. "Randy was on special medications, thanks to Uncle Sam, and he ran out yesterday. I think he's going into withdrawal but it hasn't hit him hard yet. I'm hoping we'll get wherever he's going before it gets too bad. But we have to be careful what we say. He's getting very unpredictable."  
  
"Is it safe for him to be driving?"  
  
"So far. Kurt's watching him. I have been, too. He's getting...scattered...but so far he's holding on. If it gets too bad, either Kurt or I will have to take over. But that could be more dangerous than letting him drive."  
  
Maggie nodded. She turned back to Sam, seeing the worry in his eyes.  
  
"Not his fault, Doc...had no choice in it...don't blame him..."  
  
"I won't, Sam. I won't." She still didn't understand exactly what was going on, but between what she'd gotten from Carla, and what she'd learned here, she knew now that Sam was not the only reason these men had come to her. They'd known what was coming. She began to understand some of Randy's behaviors now.  
  
"What was he on?"  
  
Daryl stole another glance to the front, then carefully pulled a paper from his jacket pocket. It was folded up several times. He slipped it over to her.  
  
"It's not pretty, Dr. I hope you can figure out what to do with him."  
  
Maggie carefully opened the paper and began to read.  
  
*****  
  
"BA?"  
  
"I see. Figure he'll be turnin off sometime soon."  
  
"Can you make it?"  
  
BA shot Hannibal a disgusted look. Hadn't he just said he was expectin these guys to get off the freeway? Like he wasn't ready to make a fast move to the exit? He shook his head, scowling.  
  
Hannibal looked back at Murdock and winked. The jazz was still humming, loud and clear. Once they got off the freeway, these guys would definitely try to lose them. Then the fun would begin.  
  
Murdock grinned back at Hannibal. Murdock didn't just feel the jazz - he was plain higher than a kite on adrenalin. He knew they would be taking them soon. Knew that Face would be theirs again. He couldn't help bouncing on the seat, just a bit. Too much and BA would turn around and start yelling, and then they might lose Face. So he just bounced a little.  
  
Frankie was not quite so excited. He was worried. Once again the guys were off in their fantasy world, thinking taking down armed men was fun...geez. Did they even stop to think about what could happen? What happened if these guys started shooting at them? They couldn't very well shoot back, maybe hit Face. Had they even considered that maybe the guys with Face weren't really with him, but holding him? That they were really the bad guys? Maybe Face wasn't even with them. They'd gotten close enough for Face to recognize the van and they still hadn't stopped. Maybe Face didn't want to come back to the team.  
  
Frankie stared out the window and worried.  
  
*****  
  
Randy took a quick swing across lanes and hit the exit for Beverly Boulevard, ignoring the horns blaring around him. Three sets of eyes grew wide at the sudden swerving, Kurt almost grabbing for the wheel, thinking Randy had lost focus yet again. Only when he saw the determined frown on his face did Kurt see that Randy was actually still in control.  
  
"What the hell, Randy?"  
  
"Freeway's too slow now. Faster this way."  
  
"Faster where? You still haven't told us where we're going."  
  
Randy smiled. "You'll know, soon enough."  
  
Randy watched behind him again. No sign of the black van, but that didn't mean anything. The anger he'd felt at their being there was going away. The desperation was gone. He didn't care if they followed. Let them. Nothing was going to stop him now. He could feel it. It was humming in him again. That feeling. That...euphoria. He was so close. So close. He'd be at the beach in just a little while now. Half hour, maybe 45 minutes. So close! He'd find his friends then. He wouldn't have to explain anything. He knew them. They'd welcome him back. Open arms. No questions. They wouldn't care where he'd been, what he'd done. It wouldn't matter. Because he belonged to them. They belonged to him.  
  
He grinned. His heart wasn't pounding out of anger any more. No, that was pure joy, man. He felt almost light-headed with it. Soon. So soon. He wiped his face off again. Still hot, but it didn't matter. Soon he'd let the breeze off the ocean cool him off. He swim in the waves again. Coming flying back onto the sand on the waves. Let himself get knocked down and tossed around by the waves.  
  
He glanced over at Kurt, back at Daryl, Sam...the doctor. What the hell? He'd introduce them to his friends. Maybe they'd like each other. That would be nice. An even bigger family. Yeh. A huge family. A gigantic family! He grinned even more.  
  
This was gonna be so great...


	46. Chapter 46

"You understand how important this is, Captain? I need that van found ASAP."  
  
"It would help if we had a better idea of where it was heading, General. We're not miracle workers."  
  
"I'm sure you'll do just fine. You do, after all, have air support?"  
  
"Hell, General, I can't just pull them off their patrols for this..."  
  
"I think you can, Captain. I think you will..."  
  
Captain Yarbro shook his head as he hung up the phone. Damn that man! After all this time he still wouldn't back off. Here he was, a deputy chief of the LAPD and this guy talks to him like some damn errand boy. Use his helicopters, sure. Just call them all off their regular duties to hunt for a fucking van. For a moment, he thought about just forgetting the whole thing. But only for a moment. Stockwell knew too many things, too many people. His career would come to an abrupt end if he didn't give it his best shot. Damn.  
  
He picked up the phone. "Get me dispatch," he growled.  
  
*****  
  
The two vans were headed down South Union. BA maintained his distance, once he and Hannibal had realized the other van was no longer trying to evade them. BA didn't understand why, but it was alright by him. His van had taken enough rough handling this trip.  
  
Hannibal was surprised that he felt a bit of a let down. He chuckled to himself. Even from a distance, Face was forcing him to control the jazz.  
  
Murdock was not happy. He wanted to pull ahead and stop them anyway. It was time. It was past time.  
  
"Hannibal..."  
  
"No, Murdock. They seem to have calmed down now and I don't want to rile them up again. Besides, I think I know where they're headed. Generally, anyway."  
  
"Where's that, Hannibal?" Frankie sat up, having relaxed at the slower pace.  
  
"Where Face always goes when he needs some grounding, Frankie. The ocean. Whether he's got a specific place in mind, I don't know. But that's where he's going."  
  
"Yeh, if he's still in charge," Murdock grumbled.  
  
"I get the feeling he at least let these guys know where he wanted to go. At any rate, I'm not willing to blow things now. If they get hinky again, we'll take them. In the meantime, we let them set the pace."  
  
"Ok, Hannibal." Murdock still didn't like it, and slumped down in his seat to let everyone know it. He wouldn't say anything more, though. He wasn't that crazy.  
  
*****  
  
"Sam, you still awake?" Randy glanced at the back. Everyone had relaxed a bit now that the van wasn't speeding through the streets any more.  
  
"Yeh, Randy." Sam's voice was still soft, but sounding stronger. Maggie kept him laying down, so he found himself talking to the ceiling, but that was okay. He mainly kept his eyes shut anyway, to keep from getting sick.  
  
"We're almost there, Sam. Just a little bit longer. How about that, huh? We made it!"  
  
Sam smiled. It almost sounded like the old Randy. Almost. "That's great, Randy. I knew we'd do it."  
  
"Yeh. We're a good team, you and me."  
  
Sam chuckled at that. Followed by a grimace. He still hurt, but thank God not as bad.  
  
Kurt, Daryl and Maggie were watching the exchange. It was almost as if Sam and Randy were the only ones in the van. Well, as long as Randy was acting less wired...  
  
As if reading their thoughts, Randy looked over at Kurt.  
  
"Oh, hey, you guys, too. You got us out of a bunch of problems. Man, I can't wait for you to meet my other friends. You'll like them."  
  
"Your other friends?" This was the first time Kurt had heard of them. "You're going to meet some people out here?" Something wasn't right here. Randy wasn't supposed to remember anything from his past. The reports said his memory had been suppressed almost totally.  
  
"Yeh. They're out here. Well, someplace out here." For a moment, Randy felt some doubts. No, they were here. "That's why we're going to the ocean. They'll look for me at the beach. That's where we'll find them. And then I can explain everything to them. And then they'll stay. See?"  
  
"Uh, yeh, sure, Randy." Kurt didn't see at all. He looked back at Sam, but couldn't see his expression. He looked at Daryl and Maggie, who looked as mystified as he did.  
  
Randy ignored their puzzlement. As quickly as his zeal had appeared, it left. He concentrated hard on the street. Had to force himself to concentrate. Shook his head. What the hell was the matter with him? He was so happy a minute ago. Now he was filled with doubts. His head was pounding. Almost as bad as his heart. What was with that, anyway? God, it hadn't let up for only a few minutes here and there for the last, god, hours? It was starting to hurt now. Damn.  
  
He was getting worried. He really wasn't feeling good. God, please, just a little while longer. Don't let me get sick again now...please...  
  
*****  
  
"412 to dispatch..."  
  
"Go ahead, 412..."  
  
"Yarbro vehicle located, south on South Vermont Avenue, just passing Exposition Park..."  
  
"10-4, 412, keep us advised..."  
  
Murdock watched the LAPD helicopter. A civilian would think it was searching for something, as it seemed to circle overhead, high enough to look more like a fly than a helicopter. Murdock knew differently. He knew it had found what it was looking for and was following it. And it was going the same direction they were. Murdock figured it was watching one of two vehicles. He knew it, when a second chopper appeared.  
  
"We got company, Colonel. Sky high."  
  
Hannibal leaned forward, looking up through the windshield. He watched for a few moments before settling back in his seat.  
  
"Well, that makes things interesting, huh, guys?" He grinned and lit another cigar.  
  
*****  
  
Randy was starting to speed up again. He was perspiring freely now, would wipe his face off automatically. His head and heart were both pounding, both hurting. Sweating, yet he felt ice cold. He was having a very hard time concentrating on his driving. He knew where he needed to turn, didn't know how he knew, but he did. He started worrying that he would miss it.  
  
"Watch for 190th. We have to go west on 190th." He didn't care who he told; one of these morons would hear him.  
  
"Where exactly are we going, Randy?" Kurt was watching him. Randy didn't notice the concerned frown on Kurt's face, or the quick glances between the other occupants.  
  
"To the beach. Damn it, to the ocean. How many times have we talked about it, Sam? 190th. We need 190th."  
  
"Which beach, Randy?" Kurt was trying not to push things, but he didn't know if Randy even realized how many miles of beach California had. And he definitely didn't like that Randy had thought he was Sam.  
  
"The beach, damn it! Don't you listen? My beach. Where my friends are. 190th! Tell me when you see it."  
  
"Okay, okay, Randy. I'll watch for it." Kurt sat back in his seat. Randy was going downhill fast and Kurt wasn't sure what to do about it. He looked back at Daryl. Daryl turned to Maggie.  
  
"What should we do, Dr.?"  
  
Maggie was very worried. She couldn't believe the drug combinations that Randy had been taking for so long. She knew how close to total breakdown he was getting. It had been a slow descent at first, but was gaining in momentum. She wasn't sure how long he'd be capable of driving at all, knowing he was already probably past safe driving.  
  
"Can one of you take over driving at least? Make it an offer, not a demand, but he shouldn't be driving. Until we can get him away from the wheel, we can't help him."  
  
Daryl pointed to Randy, then Kurt. Kurt nodded reluctantly. Daryl was the persuader.  
  
"Uh, Randy?"  
  
"What? D'you see it? 190th? Where?" Randy eyes darted around the streets, the van starting to swerve with his eye movements.  
  
"No, no, Randy, settle down. We're not there yet. Look, how about I drive for a while? You can watch for the turnoff, you and Daryl, and I'll drive. I mean, you must be tired, right?"  
  
Randy actually thought about this for a while. It was true, he was tired. So tired...and he couldn't watch for the street and drive at the same time. He kept forgetting he was driving at all, and then he'd have to make himself watch the road instead of looking for the turn...okay. Okay. Let Kurt drive. He hit the brakes.  
  
"Damn it, Randy! Pull over first! Pull over!"  
  
Horns were blowing, tires screeching. Maggie leaned over Sam, trying to keep him from being shoved to the front of the van, praying they wouldn't get rear-ended. Daryl grabbed the back of the seat in front of him, while Kurt, despite his seat belt, found himself leaning over the dashboard.  
  
Automatically obeying Kurt's command, Randy pulled the steering wheel to the right and gunned the motor. They charged across the street to the sounds of even more road chaos, running up on the curb before coming to a jarring stop.  
  
"Okay." Randy jerked open his door and jumped out, running around to the passenger side. Pulling the door open, he shoved Kurt. "Get over. Drive. Drive. 190th. We need 190th!"  
  
Kurt scrambled out of his seat belt and practically leaped to the driver's seat. He looked back at the rest of the passengers.  
  
"Everyone okay?"  
  
Shaken and pale, Daryl and Maggie nodded their heads. Sam had grimaced in pain at the rough ride, but he nodded at Maggie. He was okay.  
  
Kurt took a deep breath, and drove carefully back down off the curb and melded into traffic. He thanked his lucky stars they had gotten off the freeway...


	47. Chapter 47

"Maggie, what's going on?" Sam raised his head, trying to see Randy. He didn't have to ask to know things were getting out of hand; what he didn't know was how badly.  
  
"Kurt's driving now, so don't worry about that. Randy's...not good." They were all speaking softly, although Maggie doubted that Randy would have noticed if they had been shouting at each other. "I don't know... I just don't know what the combination is going to do. I know he's not in control any more. One minute he's stable, the next...if we don't get stopped sometime soon, he's going to be in real trouble."  
  
"Where are we?"  
  
"Going down 190th, west."  
  
"He's going toward Redondo Beach. Maybe the state beach. It's not far, not now. You have any more of that painkiller, Maggie?"  
  
"Yes, I do. Are you hurting?"  
  
"It's not for me. I want you to keep a small dose ready for Randy if we need it."  
  
"I don't know that I can give him any, Sam. I don't think his system would tolerate it."  
  
"It's just as a last resort, doc. Just enough so he can be controlled and safe. Daryl..."  
  
"Yeh, Sam."  
  
"You and Kurt will have to be ready for damn near anything once we get there. It almost sounds like he expects his friends to be there waiting for him. I don't know what he's gonna do when he realizes they're not. If he's in any shape to do anything."  
  
"Just who are these friends?"  
  
Sam closed his eyes. How to explain this? Just tell the truth, he guessed. At least, some of it.  
  
"He saw them in a dream several weeks ago. I don't know if it was part of a repressed memory or just imagination. He's never named them or really described them. Hell, he could glom onto any Tom, Dick or Harry that happens to be on the beach as far as I know." Sam reached up and ran his hand through his hair. Despite what he'd told Maggie, he was hurting, and it was wearing him down. "We just have to be ready for anything. Literally."  
  
*****  
  
"They're headed for Redondo Beach, Hannibal. That could get hairy."  
  
"I know, Murdock. We're gonna have to keep them close. With those choppers up there, we can expect company pretty much immediately after they stop. It's gonna have to be a quick snatch and go, okay?"  
  
"Right, Hannibal. Ain't gonna give Stockwell a chance. That other bunch neither." BA moved up slightly closer behind the gray van. He wanted to be close, but not crowding them. "How you wanna play it, Hannibal?"  
  
Hannibal thought about this. While not wanting to spook anyone, time was running short. He had no doubt that Stockwell and the other guys were already on their way to intercept the gray van. Hopefully they would have decided on the same strategy as Hannibal had at first, waiting for them to stop somewhere and taking them then. It was the discrete way of doing it, and Stockwell was definitely discrete.  
  
Hannibal grinned. He didn't care about discrete.  
  
"I think we need to clear the path for our lieutenant, gentlemen. Make sure he gets where he's going without any interference. So start looking for extraneous tail feathers, guys. Murdock, Frankie - break 'em out."  
  
BA actually smiled. Murdock grinned, and Frankie frowned, as they reached in the back and started handing out the assault weapons. Look out, LA, thought Murdock. The A-Team is back in business...  
  
*****  
  
Able 17 glanced at his watch one more time. They were still a good ten minutes away from the van's last reported location. It was fairly clear the general area it was going to. He wasn't that familiar with the area himself, but the fact sheet they'd been faxed had shown a fairly large beach area just to the south of Redondo Beach proper. Redondo State Beach. Large. Crowded. If they went there, it would be hard to keep track of them. Hard to bring them in without a lot of notice. It was perfect. For Peck.  
  
Clifton looked over at his new partner. They sat in the back of a small limo, just the two of them. The driver was separated by a plexiglass partition, one of the men Clifton intended to bring with him to Stockwell's group. He and Able 17 could talk freely.  
  
"I think he's going to head for the state beach, here." Able 17 pointed to the map. "It's perfect for losing anyone who might be following. And difficult to take him down without witnesses."  
  
"Why not Redondo Beach itself?"  
  
"Too easy to get trapped. Especially since they obviously know there are a lot of people on their trail. No, the beach is where he'll go. Unless we spot him and then form a complete ring around him, he'll figure he can evade us. It's exactly the place he'd go."  
  
Clifton conceded the point. "So how do you want to play this out?"  
  
"You were able to separate your men from Barish's without causing suspicion?"  
  
"Yes. They don't know there's anything to be suspicious of, yet, so it was just a routine placement arrangement. The A-Team still following them?"  
  
"Yes, along with the LAPD choppers. I think we should send Barish's men to intercept Peck. Between Peck and his friends and the A-Team, that should take them out of the running long enough for us to do our job."  
  
"You seem pretty confidant they can handle my...Barish's men."  
  
"I've dealt with the Team before. And I know the men with Peck. You won't have to worry. Let's get the rest of our people over to the beach. If we're lucky, we'll beat them to it and pick them up on arrival."  
  
"If we're not lucky?"  
  
"Then we'll be looking for decidedly shy needle in a haystack. But," he smile slightly, "one that's not shining quite so brightly as it normally does."  
  
*****  
  
Randy was staring straight ahead, not really seeing the road, the traffic, the scenery. He was trying to think. It was hard, very hard right now. He was trying hard not to gasp for air, didn't want Kurt to know he was in deep shit. His chest felt on fire. It had started shortly after they turned off 190th and headed south toward the state beach. He kept telling himself it was nothing. Excitement. Stress. Something like that. It would go away. It had to.  
  
Kurt kept glancing over at him. Randy knew he was sweating like a pig. His head no longer ached; it buzzed. Loudly. He couldn't let Kurt know anything was really wrong. Couldn't let any of them. They'd try to stop him if they knew he was weak.  
  
He took a slow, deep breath. As deep as he could, anyway. He needed to calm down. Needed to think. He had to be ready when they got there. Had to know what he was going to do so he could just do it and not have to think about it.  
  
God, please. Please. Just a little bit longer. They were almost there. Just let him hold out a little longer. Was that asking so much?  
  
*****  
  
Barish sat quietly, watching out the window, waiting. Clifton had reported earlier, letting him know that LAPD had picked up the gray van and were following its progress by air. From that point on, things should be simple. LAPD would lead his people to the target and they, in turn, would proceed with the cleanup.  
  
With a slight alteration.  
  
Barish lit a cigarette. Surgeon General be damned. Barish could teach the Surgeon General a few things about cigarettes. He smirked, standing and moving closer to the window. It looked out over a very quiet and peaceful campus, which housed a very quiet and private hospital.  
  
Barish was not only a skillful researcher. He was also a very persuasive one...


	48. Chapter 48

"There they are, Colonel." Murdock's voice was calm, as he pointed past Hannibal's shoulder to the sedan pulling out from the side street ahead.  
  
Hannibal watched a second dark vehicle as it pulled into traffic behind the first. Nondescript, expensive, darkly tinted windows. They had ignored oncoming traffic. Typical. He grinned.  
  
"Okay, guys, this is it."  
  
BA accelerated, passing the second car, pulling up quickly beside the first. Frankie pulled open the side door as Murdock aimed his Ruger past him. Three short bursts and the car flew off to the side. Frankie quickly pulled the door shut, grimacing as he held his left ear.  
  
"Geez, Murdock!"  
  
Murdock grinned. "Sorry, Frankie. Shoulda warned you about the percussion section."  
  
Hannibal grinned, watching the side mirror. Traffic was just a bit congested behind them. He checked for the second car. If these guys were any good at all, they'd find a way around the mess, but it would take them a little time. Just more time for Face.  
  
"They're turning, Hannibal. Think they're headin for the beach now."  
  
"Okay, BA, keep an eye on them. I'll watch the rear. Murdock, Frankie, get ready. Stockwell's goons have probably figured out where Face is heading by now, too, so they may have a welcoming committee waiting. We want to be ready for that."  
  
"At least we'll have Face with us for that."  
  
"Maybe, Murdock. No doubt they saw the little scrimmage back there. They'll figure we're either on their side or we just don't want competition, so I don't know how they'll greet us. Again, it depends on what shape Face is in."  
  
Murdock frowned. "You really think he's the one hurt, Hannibal?"  
  
"I don't know, Murdock. I honestly don't know. The maneuvers have been like Face, yet not quite. And I'm sure he would've recognized the van by now, if he was in any condition to. We just have to be ready for anything now. At the very least, we gotta provide cover for them.  
  
"And Frankie, I want you to keep your eye on that van. When you see Face, you keep on him. Don't - and I mean DON'T - lose him. Got it?"  
  
Frankie almost shrank away at the tone in Hannibal's voice. He'd never heard him that harsh before.  
  
"Don't worry, Johnnie. No way he'll get away from me. Count on it."  
  
*****  
  
"What the hell was that?!" Kurt stared in the rear view mirror.  
  
He'd caught the two vehicles pulling in behind them, and had immediately recognized the style of both the cars and the maneuver. He knew it was a takedown. One would force its way in front of him, the other closing up on the rear. Inexorably, they would slow down, not affording him any room to maneuver away, and eventually the would force him off the road and to a stop. He could not let that first car get anywhere near him. He'd gently pressed on the accelerator, not wanting to let them know they'd been spotted. And then it had happened.  
  
That black van, the one that had been following them for miles, suddenly shot up beside the lead car. He'd missed the next few seconds, having to watch the road ahead. All he knew was there had been a series of shots fired and the lead car had careened off across the road, cars running into each other before they had a chance to react. The entire street behind them was a mass of steaming, stalled vehicles.  
  
Except for the black van, which resumed its steady pace behind them. He stared at Daryl, whose eyes were wide and confused. Who were those guys?  
  
*****  
  
Randy never noticed the commotion behind them. He'd been concentrating on his breathing, trying to slow his heart down, trying to stay calm. It seemed to be working. His chest still felt like there was vise around it, but it was loosening. He tried to get his bearings. He knew they had to turn soon. Go south.  
  
"Kurt."  
  
"Uh, yeh, yeh, Randy, what is it?"  
  
"Turn left. On Prospect."  
  
"You okay, Randy?"  
  
"Yeh. Just drive."  
  
Damn. Just talking had taken nearly all his energy. How the hell would he find his friends like this? Sam. Sam had to help him. Sam knew who his friends were. Didn't he? He'd told him about them. He knew he had. Okay. Sam would help him. Sam always helped him.  
  
"Kurt."  
  
"Yeh, Randy."  
  
"Hurry it up."  
  
*****  
  
"Time?"  
  
"We should make it. They just turned onto Prospect. ETA six minutes."  
  
"Good. Our people in place?"  
  
"Yes. One car at each entrance, all on tach-1 ready to move when we get the actual location."  
  
"Good"  
  
"Problem just before they turned onto Prospect."  
  
"A-Team?"  
  
"Apparently. Second car is just moving out of the tie-up there. First car is out of action."  
  
"Figure on the second car going out soon. That'll take care of that problem."  
  
"Right."  
  
Clifton didn't mention the new instructions Barish had given him at the last check-in. No point in complicating things.  
  
*****  
  
Stockwell re-read the last report from Able 17. He looked out of the jet's window, watching the clouds drift by below him. Clifton had been turned, along with the majority of his men, expecting positions within Stockwell's organization in exchange for retrieving Peck alive. Able 17 had done well. Stockwell smiled. They would have the lieutenant in custody shortly.  
  
Hopefully before Clifton realized he'd been...misled.  
  
*****  
  
"Our buddies are catching up, BA."  
  
"Gottem, Hannibal."  
  
"Murdock, you ready?"  
  
"All set, Colonel."  
  
"Frankie?...Frankie!"  
  
"Yeh, Johnnie, but I don't like it."  
  
"Don't have to like it, Frankie, just do it."  
  
Frankie took a deep breath. He sat in the very back of the van, holding the handle to the back doors. A rope was tied tightly around his waist and over both shoulders. Murdock crouched next to him in a similarly rigged harness. He held the Ruger ready.  
  
Hannibal watched out the side mirror. The car was getting closer. Hannibal could see the barrel come out of the passenger window.  
  
"Keep to the side, Frankie. You're gonna be getting rained on. You, too, Murdock."  
  
Frankie just swallowed. Murdock looked over at him, winked, grinned.  
  
"Now, Frankie!"  
  
Frankie pulled on the handle and shoved with all his might and felt himself flying forward with the door. If not for the harness, he'd have found himself laying on the hood of the car behind them. He felt himself slammed back into the van and hugged the floor. He heard bullets zipping past him. Before the doors could slam back shut, Murdock let loose with a volley from the Ruger. The hood of the car slammed upward, steam pouring out. The car jerked to the side and back again before screaming for the boulevard. It slammed into a palm tree and burst into flame. Several men scrambled from the wreck.  
  
Inside the van, Hannibal checked himself and BA quickly before looking into the back. "Everybody still with us?"  
  
"Yeh, Hannibal. Piece of cake." Murdock grinned maniacally.  
  
Frankie just lay on the floor, wishing to God he'd never heard of Stockwell or Johnnie or the A-Team.  
  
*****  
  
"Randy?"  
  
He heard the voice; it sounded far away. It took a few moments for it to register that he was being spoken to. He blinked, trying to focus. His whole body hurt, but at least his heart was no longer threatening to jump out of his chest.  
  
"Randy?"  
  
"Yeh, yeh, what?"  
  
"We're here. But we've got company waiting. My guess is they've covered all the entrances."  
  
Shit. He should've been paying attention.  
  
"Have they seen us?"  
  
"Don't think so. Not yet anyway. Only a matter of time."  
  
"Okay. Move over to the far lane, stay there. We'll have to find a different way in."  
  
"That's not gonna be easy. It's not like we're off in the wilderness here, Randy."  
  
Randy smiled. His friends were close. He could feel them. He could ignore the pains now. He could ignore the sweating and the dizziness. He would draw up every last bit of energy he had left. He would focus now on the mission. That was the only thing that mattered now.  
  
"Don't worry, Kurt. I know exactly how to do it."


	49. Chapter 49

"They've been spotted - turning off Torrance, going down Esplanade. They passed the first entrance to the beach, though."  
  
"Think they spotted our guys?"  
  
"Possible. That van is full of experts, you know."  
  
"Damn. Okay, move the first group out. Put the rest on high alert. And hope they don't spot the others."  
  
"Right." Clifton grabbed the radio.  
  
Maggie helped Sam sit up, getting his balance. She'd given him a short dose of painkillers, but could tell he was feeling like shit, sitting up after being prone for so long. She shook her head, sitting next to sliding door. She looked at him, concerned.  
  
"Sam, you ready for this?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
Randy looked back at him, winked.  
  
"Just run like hell and hide, buddy. I'll pick you up on the backswing."  
  
Sam shook his head. He hoped to hell this worked. He hoped to hell he could make it. He didn't like to think what would happen if Barish or Stockwell caught up with him first.  
  
Just past Sapphire, Kurt jerked the van to the side of the street. Daryl jumped out and took off running for the beach. Kurt immediately pulled back into traffic.  
  
"Damn! Which one was that?"  
  
"Don't know, BA. Frankie - follow him! Don't lose him!"  
  
BA slammed into almost the exact spot Kurt had stopped, Frankie sliding the door open and leaping out almost before it stopped. Murdock didn't bother to shut the door.  
  
"Murdock, you take the next one. Damn, I should've expected something off the wall."  
  
"We'll get him, Hannibal. Don't worry."  
  
Kurt swung over at the Knob Hill cross street, jumping out of the driver's door while Randy swung over to take his place. They were there and gone in seconds.  
  
Murdock practically flew out the door, BA shortening the distance between the two vehicles.  
  
Randy pulled over at Avenue C. Maggie shoved the door open, Sam slid out and started running as best he could. There was a set of small cabanas just a short distance away, with wall to wall people around them. Sam headed for them, hoping he could find a place to sit down where he'd be out of sight. He was much slower than the other two, but Randy held his position longer, too, giving their pursuers a diversion. He watched Sam disappear into the crowd before gunning it. He saw the black van pull in almost on his tailpipe.  
  
He didn't see Hannibal jump out and start running after Sam.  
  
The next stop would be the trickiest. It would be him and the doctor and he really didn't trust her to do her part.  
  
"Ready, doctor?"  
  
"No, but I'll try."  
  
"You better do more than try, lady."  
  
Maggie didn't say anything, just watched him. She knew he was running on adrenaline alone, and did not like the looks of him. By rights, he should've been down and out. Pushing himself any more and he could end up dead. But she knew better than to try and talk him out of anything. She'd seen the 'jazz' and, withdrawal or not, she recognized the same signs in Randy.  
  
They passed Avenue H and Randy pulled the van over and leaped out. Maggie shoved herself into the driver's seat and hit the gas. She was supposed to keep driving, pulling any other pursuers far away. She went two more blocks before turning, moving up a block and paralleling Esplanade. She'd glanced back, recognized the black van. Somewhere on that beach were four men she cared deeply about, one of them very ill, and no way in hell was she deserting them.  
  
*****  
  
"Alright, what is going on? Where are you guys? Did anyone pick up the first one? Or the next? Report! Report!"  
  
Able 17 slammed his fist against the door. Damn! This was not supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a fairly simple pickup, surround the van and take them. The only complication was not knowing which entrance they would use, and possibly the A-Team. It had been assumed the pickup would be completed before the team got to them. Now...fiasco.  
  
He watched Clifton speaking on the radio. Calm, but fast. Rushing the troops to try to find the errant men. Forget trying to pick up the trail of those already lost. Most of the men being rushed to the beachfront itself, hoping to surround the men as they tried to mingle in. The others, trying to catch up with the van before it dropped off the last of them.  
  
Clifton had no frustrations with the situation. He had known it would not go down as Able 17 had expected. The man may know Peck, but he didn't know Randy or Sam. Didn't know the 'training' they had gone through. He smiled grimly to himself.  
  
Even Sam didn't know the half of it...


	50. Chapter 50

Daryl ran. It was a chancy game they were playing now. Not quite the hunted. Not quite the hunters. Not yet. Randy's plan took chutzpah. Lots of it. Each of them, intentionally drawing attention to themselves, and yet hiding. Let them catch a glimpse, here and there. Draw them off, take them out, one by one. He heard Randy's voice, harsh with the fever, the stress, yet so reasonable. Logical. Us or them. That's what it boiled down to. That part of the game Kurt and he abhorred, but was necessary now. They had come to the end of the road, literally. They could not run any more, no where left to go that these people would not follow them. Follow them and...  
  
Daryl flung off his jacket as he ran, tossing it carelessly in a trash can. It would be seen. That was okay. It would be seen, but he wouldn't be. Lead them on. Tease them. Frustrate them. Anger them. Make them careless. Take them down. It had been years since he'd had to do anything like this, but the training had been thorough. He knew what to do. He just didn't want to do it.  
  
He slowed now to a quick walk, mingling in with the crowd. Glanced behind him. Saw the man just entering the disorderly edge of the throng. Daryl slowed further. Thoughtful. The guy was new at this. It was pretty obvious he was looking for someone, as his head turned first one way, then the other, scanning the crowd. That was good, in one way. It would make it easier for Daryl to get rid of him. But it was bad, too. Daryl didn't like the idea of killing someone still wet behind the ears.  
  
*****  
  
Kurt stopped abruptly at the corner of a concession stand, appearing to browse the hand-chalked menu, watching for anyone hurrying toward him. No one. He started meandering away from the stand, rolling up his sleeves. Casual. Very casual. He kept checking his surroundings, the erstwhile tourist. It took a few minutes before he saw him. Leather jacket carelessly slung over his shoulder, baseball cap, stopping to check out the various stands, watching the mimes perform. The guy wasn't half-bad. Innocently random in his movements. But he moved when Kurt moved, stopped when Kurt stopped. Looked away when Kurt's eyes moved in his direction.  
  
Kurt started looking for his spot. He knew this guy had to have come from the black van; no company cars had been close enough for this early a connection. It gave him pause. He still wasn't sure who these guys were, what their objective was. He sighed to himself. He would have preferred simply to disable their pursuers, but, as Randy had pointed out, that wouldn't put an end to things. Obviously, from their methods earlier, these guys were not averse to violence. And he knew Stockwell's ways, very well. For any of them to have a future, these people had to be dealt with in a conclusive manner.  
  
It really came down to numbers. One man, he could accept. Not willingly, not easily, but he could do that. But he knew it would not end with just the men in the black van. Stockwell's people were here, or would be shortly. And Barish's, too. Sure, some would give up, turn tail when they realized their numbers were dwindling. And hopefully, it would send a message to all their pursuers. Don't fuck with us. Not any more.  
  
Kurt watched the man in the baseball cap. He was good. Actually smiling at the people around him, chit-chatting with them. And yet he kept coming. Instinctively, Kurt knew he would have liked this guy. Too bad. Just too damn bad...  
  
*****  
  
Sam never looked back after sliding out of the van. His leg hurt like hell as he ran, favoring it as best he could. He'd known, from the minute Randy laid out his plan, that losing any assassin would be a matter of finding a place to hide and staying there. There was just no way he could draw someone into a trap and kill them. It would be suicide. So he never looked back, never thought about seeing who was there, or how close. His only hope was finding somewhere they couldn't look.  
  
He moved deep into the crowd surrounding the cabanas. He was assaulted by the multitude of smells coming from them. Food concessions. Figures. That's why the crowd. His stomach immediately reminded him that it had been a long time since anything had been in it. But he pushed that aside; he was looking. Looking for that one person. That one type of person. And then he saw her.  
  
Not the kind of woman he usually looked at twice. But the type he needed now. Pretty, not beautiful. Busy, competent, issuing orders to the people working around her without sounding like a drill sergeant. The busiest of the concessions. He noticed the fast turnover of customers. This woman was used to making fast decisions. And she was smiling. This was the one. He moved closer, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. He wasn't sure yet how he would get her by herself; his only objective right now was to be in the right place at the right time. And hope he wasn't spotted before he'd had his chance.  
  
Every once in a while, the gods of luck would smile on him. Today was one of those times. He had no sooner reached the corner of the concession when the woman spoke to a co-worker and stepped out of the side door. Sam moved around the corner as she was lighting up.  
  
"Excuse me..." He smiled that million-dollar smile.  
  
She looked at him, curious, not alarmed. Good.  
  
"I'm sorry to bother you, but, I'm, uh, well, I'm not feeling so good right now. I just had surgery and I'm afraid I overdid today. Would there be someplace I could just sit for a bit, get out of the sun? I really hate to bother you..."  
  
"Hey, no, don't worry about it." Concern showing in her voice and face. "Here, come on in. You can sit in the back where it's cooler, okay?" She took his arm gently, and he allowed himself to be led into the welcome shelter. She took him to the back corner, clearing off a somewhat comfortable office chair and helping him settle into it. The look of relief on his face wasn't faked.  
  
"Are you okay? Would you like something to drink, or eat, or...?"  
  
"No, no, thank you, if I could just sit for a bit, I'll be fine. I'll stay out of your way. Thank you."  
  
"No problem. Just stay put as long as you want. Is there anyone you'd like me to call?"  
  
"No, I'm supposed to meet some friends here, but I'm not sure when they'll arrive. I'm a bit early..."  
  
"Well, you just sit until you feel better. Let me know if you want anything, okay?" They smiled at each other.  
  
*****  
  
Randy stopped short once he got in with the throng on the boardwalk. He looked around, taking a deep, deep breath. He glanced behind him; no one stuck out. He began walking down the boardwalk, watching. He ignored the throbbing in his chest, the ringing in his head. He ignored the people shouldering past him. His mind was on one thing and one thing only.  
  
He shouldered past the people on the boardwalk, ignoring the dirty looks that quickly turned to unease. One man spoke angrily after being pushed to the side. Randy turned and looked at him and the man stopped dead, apologized and hurried off. A small smile crept onto Randy's face. He wiped the sweat away yet again and resumed his search.  
  
He was not unaware of the man following him. As long as all he did was follow, it didn't matter. He was also aware of others now, starting to move through the crowd. Whether they had seen him or not, he didn't know. Didn't matter. He would deal with them as they came. He'd done it before. He would do it again. The only thing that mattered was finding his friends. Once he did that, he was safe.  
  
*****  
  
Maggie pulled up behind the black van. She knew no one would be in it, but it was comforting just to have it there. She knew John was somewhere close and it made all the difference now. She sat in the gray van, windows down, and waited. She would be there, ready, when they found Face.


	51. Chapter 51

Frankie was cursing to himself all the way from the van until he hit the first tentacles of the crowd. It was bad enough when Johnnie had told him to keep an eye out for Face and not lose him; now he had to find and keep track of a perfect stranger that he'd barely gotten a glimpse of. He stopped, looking frantically for any sign of the man. That's when he saw the jacket laying on top of the trash can. He grinned. Maybe this guy wasn't so smart, after all. Losing the jacket wouldn't change his appearance enough to fool Frankie Santana. No way, man.  
  
He moved forward into the crowd, sometimes having to stand on tip-toe to see over people's shoulders. It only took a few minutes for him to spy his quarry, who was moving slowly up the boardwalk. Frankie slouched down then, wanting to make sure he wasn't seen himself. He knew he wasn't supposed to actually catch the guy, just keep an eye on him and report back to Hannibal. He followed him for a few more minutes before pulling out the small walkie-talkie.  
  
"Hammer, this is Blaster, come in."  
  
"Blaster, this is Hammer. Report."  
  
"In sight, Hammer. About 15 yards ahead of me, heading north on the boardwalk."  
  
"Okay, keep him in sight but don't get any closer. I think I know where they're going to meet up so don't spook him. Keep me posted."  
  
"Will do, Hammer. Blaster out."  
  
Frankie moved ahead slowly, maintaining his distance. The man ahead of him seemed oblivious to his presence, although Frankie saw he was scanning the crowd constantly. He would disappear in the sea of bodies, only to reappear moments later a few feet to one side or the other. It took only minutes for Frankie to lose sight of him completely.  
  
"Damn! Man, Johnnie's gonna have my ass..." Frankie searched frantically, moving quickly to the last place he'd seen the man. He was moving past one of the lifeguard towers when he felt a poke in his back. He stopped suddenly and the pressure on his back increased and remained. Shit.  
  
"Don't try anything stupid, buddy. Just move toward the back of the tower. Now."  
  
The disembodied voice behind him allowed for no protest. Frankie carefully stepped off the boardwalk and moved behind the tower. Frankie's eyes darted back and forth, looking for anyone who might offer a diversion, help. Hell, would even notice them. Nothing.  
  
"Stop here. Turn toward the road."  
  
"Listen, man, we're on your side, okay? We're friends of Face's, man. We're trying to get you guys out of here, away from the bad guys, okay? Take me to Face, he'll tell you..." The words spilled out of Frankie's mouth a mile a minute. The pressure increased again and he shut up. For a moment, there was silence, Frankie waiting for the gunshot or knife cut or hands around his neck. Anything.  
  
"Who's Face?"  
  
*****  
  
At what point he lost him, Murdock couldn't say. The guy had been just ahead of him a moment before, then he'd bobbed in and out of sight for a few minutes, and then nothing. He just wasn't there any more. It was frustrating as hell. Murdock was better than that. He wouldn't let himself panic. The guy didn't just vanish. He had to be around there someplace. Murdock just had to raise his antenna a little higher, that's all.  
  
It came so fast he had no time to react. One second he was walking down the boardwalk, the next the man was moving toward him, passing by his side, his fist ramming into Murdock's stomach. Murdock doubled over with the blow, the air knocked out of him. As he struggled for breath, he felt his arms gripped tightly.  
  
"Hey, you okay, buddy? Here, let me help you...no, he's fine, just something he ate...excuse me, ma'am, we'll be fine..." He was being manhandled off to the side, across deep sand. They came to a stop beside a chain link fence, maintenance equipment on the other side. The crowds were several yards away.  
  
Murdock was finally able to breathe almost normally, and he glared up at his captor. The guy was staring back down at him, a look of distaste on his face. But there was something else in his eyes. Murdock knew that look.  
  
"You don't want to kill me, man. I'm just looking for my friend. I just want to help."  
  
The man, still holding Murdock's arms in a tight grasp, looked startled.  
  
"Your friend?"  
  
"Yeh. Yeh, we've been looking for him for a long time. We just want to find him and take him home."  
  
The man didn't say anything for a few minutes, obviously thinking about what Murdock had said. He never loosened his hold. Finally the man spoke, almost tentatively.  
  
"You know a General Stockwell?"  
  
Man, talk about a loaded question. When in doubt, tell the truth...  
  
"Yeh, I know the son of a bitch. Why?"  
  
His captor didn't answer, but there was just a hint of a smile on his face.  
  
"Okay, buddy. Listen up. I'm going to let go of you, for now. You walk just ahead of me. Try anything and you'll be dead before you hit the ground. Got it? We'll go see if Randy knows you or not."  
  
Randy? Who the hell was Randy?  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal moved purposefully into the crowd. He'd stopped running when he saw his man merge into the crowd around the concessions. For just a moment back there, he'd been tempted to stay with BA and go after the van. But then he'd realized what they were doing - baiting their pursuers to give the wounded man more time to get away. Tempting as it was, Hannibal had heard Face's voice in his head, telling him to control the Jazz and stick to the plan. So he found himself jumping down from the van and running. He was more than confident in his quest. After a run like that, with a limp that pronounced, he knew this guy would be hurting. He couldn't possibly keep moving for very long. He would be the one the others came to, and Hannibal would be there waiting.  
  
Edging into the crush of people, Hannibal caught a glimpse of his target moving down the boardwalk. It was easy enough to follow him, his head bobbing in that distinct movement that came with a bad leg. That worried Hannibal. Just how badly was he hurt? It was obvious he shouldn't be doing this now. Obvious that these men were very desperate or they wouldn't have left the hospital when they did. He began to consider more seriously what his own men were walking into. It might not be as simple as it had first seemed.  
  
Hannibal glanced around and saw them. Not many. Not yet. A couple, here and there. Looking. Watching. Time was running out.  
  
"Hammer, this is Blaster, come in."  
  
Hannibal pulled out his walkie, keeping his head down to talk. "Blaster, this is Hammer. Report."  
  
"In sight, Hammer. About 15 yards ahead of me, heading north on the boardwalk."  
  
"Okay, keep him in sight but don't get any closer. I think I know where they're going to meet up so don't spook him. Keep me posted."  
  
"Will do, Hammer. Blaster out."  
  
Hannibal stuffed the radio back in his pocket and headed out to catch up with his target. And stopped dead. He looked around. All around. No bobbing head. No hurrying figure.  
  
Nothing.  
  
*****  
  
BA was having a hard time keeping up with this guy. The crowds, although parting readily enough for him, still kept him from getting close, or getting a clear view. As long as he could keep track of him, that was all that really mattered right now. BA was actually more concerned with the others who were moving in on the chase. Couldn't mistake an Able on the job. But there was something off about them, too. Someone else was with them. Someone that didn't really belong.  
  
BA tried to push ahead but the crowd was just too thick. He would've moved off the boardwalk onto the sand but there were too many surfers there. That's all he needed, running through a gauntlet of surfboards while trying to keep this guy in sight. So far, the man's actions were puzzling. He just didn't act like someone who was worried about a tail. Didn't act like he even cared if anyone was following him. More like he was looking for someone. He was pushing through the crowd ahead like a bulldozer. It wouldn't take long before that was noticed. That was dumb. Just dumb.  
  
BA saw the first attempt. Saw it coming from a mile off and surged ahead. He was still several yards behind when the Able caught up with the guy. Saw the Able bump into him, his right arm moving towards the man's back. They stopped for a moment as the man half-turned and then moved off, quickly, while the Able just stood there.  
  
BA watched transfixed as the Able slowly sank out of sight. A moment later, a woman screamed. And the man disappeared into the shocked crowd.


	52. Chapter 52

"Who's Face?"  
  
Frankie got a sick feeling in his stomach. This guy didn't know who Face was? He was going to die because they'd been chasing a bunch of strangers all over? Shit.  
  
"Who is 'Face'?" Pressure in his back.  
  
Frankie sighed. "Face is a friend we've been trying to track down for months. We thought he died, but he didn't. We thought he was with you guys; that's why we've been following you."  
  
"This 'Face' have a real name?"  
  
"Yeh, Templeton Peck. Lieutenant Templeton Peck. He's part of the A-Team."  
  
Frankie felt himself jerked around to face his captor. The look of shock, mixed with suspicion, took Frankie by surprise.  
  
"The A-Team? Your friend is part of the A-Team? And you think he's with us? Why?"  
  
"That's what we were told. Look, it's a long story..."  
  
"Okay, okay. Who told you he was with us?"  
  
"We think it was a woman who works for our boss. Our former boss. General Stockwell."  
  
"Stockwell!?" Alarm in the voice. "Who was the woman?"  
  
"A woman named Carla." No mistake there. That shook the guy bad. "Like I said, it's a long story. Look, man, we don't want to shoot you guys, or turn you in, or anything like that, okay? We thought Face was with you, and we wanted him back, that's all."  
  
Frankie watched the guy studying him. There was doubt in his eyes, and a frown on his face. Frankie still wasn't sure if he was going to get a bullet or not.  
  
"Okay. You come with me. And behave yourself. We're going to have more company coming and I'm not going to waste my energy watching you and them, got it? Cause trouble and you're history."  
  
"Hey, I'm a pussycat, man."  
  
"Yeh, well, you better have more than that in you, kid, or we're both dead. Now move."  
  
*****  
  
Murdock walked just in front of his captor. They were heading back the way they had come, but frequently the man would push the gun into his back and head him in another direction - moving off the boardwalk, backtracking, occasionally stopping at an exhibit or concession. Slowly they were making their way south.  
  
"Uh, could I at least get a name for you?"  
  
"Kurt."  
  
"Mine's Murdock." He cast a small grin back, but Kurt was all business. Murdock really wanted to find out more about this Randy, but didn't dare ask. Kurt obviously thought Randy was the friend Murdock was looking for, and the pilot wasn't about to dissuade him of that. Not yet. If the only way to Face was through Randy, he'd muddle through, somehow. Right now, Kurt's main concern seemed to be eluding the other guys, who were starting to become quite obvious.  
  
Murdock had been aware of the Ables circulating for some time. He knew Kurt was watching them, too, and he couldn't help but wonder if they would be sharing the fate Kurt had earlier planned for him. He understood now that these guys were not playing by the same rules the team was. These guys were playing for keeps. So where did that leave Face?  
  
"Move." Kurt shoved him a little harder to one side, stepping off the boardwalk once again. They moved quickly between two concessions. Murdock could feel the tension flowing from the other man.  
  
"Problem?"  
  
Kurt gave him a quick, searing glance. "Don't act so innocent. If you know Stockwell, you know how he operates. You know about his organization." Kurt was once again watching the crowd. Murdock followed his gaze, and saw two men moving in their general direction. He didn't think they'd actually seen them yet. If he hadn't been dealing with Stockwell's men for these many months, he would've thought they were just businessmen taking a break on the boardwalk.  
  
"What do you want to do with them? Kill them? Like you were going to kill me?"  
  
Kurt glared at him. "It's not like they've given us a choice, you know. Stockwell's not exactly forgiving when it comes to people he considers traitors to him, and the other guy is worse."  
  
"Worse than Stockwell?" Murdock found that hard to believe. He was also curious about the traitor remark. This guy had worked for Stockwell?  
  
"Who the hell do you think did that to Randy? Santa Claus?" Kurt glared out at the approaching men. "Sick son of a bitch..."  
  
Murdock could only look at Kurt, a sick sinking feeling beginning to form in his stomach. What had been done to this Randy, and what kind of people were the team really going up against? And what had Face to do with all of this?  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal was more than just mortified. He was angry and frustrated with himself. How the hell could he have lost him just like that? Granted, he'd been trying to talk to Frankie without drawing attention to himself, but shit! He had to find him. Hannibal was positive that the rest of the men would be coming to this guy. No way they would expect him to walk around, dodging Stockwell's people. They would be coming to him and Hannibal had to be there.  
  
Okay, stop and think. He'd been on the radio for what, 30 seconds? 45? Not enough time for anyone to disappear just by walking away. Plenty of time to hide. Hannibal looked carefully at the surroundings. Four concession stands, a short row of port-a-potties, and people. With distasteful frown, Hannibal headed for the port-a-potties. Rule out the obvious first.  
  
Minutes later, he shoved the door shut on the last of them. No one behind them, either. He'd kept a sharp eye on the boardwalk while checking; no sign of him there. A quick look between the concessions proved fruitless. Hannibal wandered back to the boardwalk. Started watching the concessions.  
  
He was looking. Looking for that one person. That one type of person.  
  
*****  
  
BA was moving quickly away from the boardwalk and the body lying on it. He was careful not to make too much of a fuss getting through the crowd. Most people were moving toward the body (ghoulish curiosity abounding), so anyone moving away now could attract attention. The killer had been far enough away when the woman had realized what she had bumped into that no one had given him a second look. BA looked for the murdered man's partner. Find him, and BA could follow him to the killer.  
  
BA had gone several yards when he heard the sirens coming. It took every ounce of will power not to succumb to years of practice and take off for the van. He had a job to do. He had found the dead man's partner and was moving up on him. He also noted at least two others moving steadily ahead. He watched them silently signaling each other. Discreet. Very discreet. Their prey must be close. BA moved up closer.  
  
At the same time he caught sight of the killer up ahead of him, he saw the other three men start moving in, one from each side, one from the back. BA started walking more quickly, acting on instinct. He had to. Inside his head there were too many conflicts. The man he was supposed to follow, and, by inference, protect, was a cold stone killer. He should just let these three goons take him. But Hannibal wanted this guy, wanted him safe. And somehow he knew that if he didn't intercede, there would be more dead bodies. If BA took out the Ables first, he'd probably be saving their lives. The trick would be doing it quickly enough, quietly enough.  
  
Watching the two men on the sides carefully, he moved in on the man at the rear.  
  
*****  
  
Sam felt a hand settle softly on his shoulder and woke with a start. He sat up abruptly, immediately wishing he hadn't. He closed his eyes against the swimming room and a quiet groan escaped.  
  
"I'm so sorry, are you alright?"  
  
"Uh, yeh, I just need to clear my head a bit." He tried to sit up, but another wave of dizziness struck and he slumped back down.  
  
"Look, maybe I should call your doctor. Or get an ambulance."  
  
"No, no, please. I'll be fine. I'm sorry to bother you. Just...just give me a few minutes and I'll get out of your hair."  
  
"That's not what I meant. I'm not trying to get rid of you, I just don't want you getting worse." The woman looked down on him, frowning deeply. "Is there some reason you don't want me to call anyone?"  
  
"Huh? Uh, no, I..." Sam had to think fast. He didn't want to have to move from this safe haven. He was wishing like hell that Maggie had given him another dose of those antibiotics. A heavier painkiller wouldn't have been bad, either. Time to pull another rabbit out the hat. He smiled sheepishly up at her. "Actually, my doctor didn't want to discharge me this early. And he'd have a fit if he knew I'd come out here just to meet my friends. But, I just don't like hospitals. And I haven't seen these guys for a long time, and..."  
  
"Okay, okay..." She had that exasperated kind of smile on her face. "I just don't want you keeling over. You stay as long as you want - or at least until we close up. Can I get you something to eat, or drink?"  
  
"Some coffee, maybe? I'm not really hungry right now..."  
  
She smiled and moved toward the kitchen area. Sam watched her. Maybe he'd been wrong. She was more than just pretty, actually...  
  
*****  
  
Randy hadn't thought twice when the man had poked the gun in his back. In fact, he hadn't really thought at all. He'd automatically made the swift turn, the lightning jab to the throat. And then just walked away. Always just walk away. No muss, no fuss. By the time anyone realized something was wrong, he was gone, just another tourist enjoying the beach. He heard the woman scream behind him, and felt the crowd falter for a moment. He took note of it, then forgot it. Refocused. Started scanning the crowd for his friends again.  
  
The sun was getting higher and higher, the temperature rising rapidly. Randy felt the heat, felt his shirt clinging wetly to his skin. The buzzing was back in his head. It was all he could do to keep going. He would've liked to stop, get some water, anything wet, but he forged ahead. Enough time for that once he'd found his friends.  
  
He took a quick glance around him, seeing that guy's partner off to the side. Making some kind of hand signal. He looked to his right. Okay, new guy. He looked ahead again, resuming his search. He wanted to get this over with. Where were they? They were supposed to be here.  
  
He heard a slight scuffle behind him. Another quick look. Some black dude had run into...a third man. Damn. He hadn't noticed that one. That shook him. He couldn't afford to slack off that way. He could lose everything fucking up like that. Damn. His heart started pounding harder again. Shit. Shit. Shit.  
  
He looked back again. Quickly. The two men were moving off to the side, the black guy with his arm around the other man's shoulders. The man was slumped down. Odd. So odd...  
  
He started scanning his surroundings more frequently. Watching the two remaining men. They were starting to move in on him. Okay. That's okay. He could handle them. They couldn't get in his way. They wouldn't. He had to find his friends. They wouldn't wait forever. He had to hurry. Another survey of the land. It was looking more and more familiar to him. He shook his head. Something not right. Too many bushes. This was a beach. A beach. He looked again. Plants growing up from the ground as he watched. No way. No way.  
  
He looked to his left. That black guy again. Man, he was clumsy. No. No. Not clumsy. Randy saw him hit the guy in the stomach. Quick jab. Real quick. The man went down, slowly, the black guy holding onto him, like they were just going to take a break. Who was he? Why... Look to the right. Guy was close. Too close. Moving faster. Get ready. No way they were going to stop him. Not now. He had come so far. He had to find them. Had to.  
  
Felt the guy moving up on him. Saw him pulling at his pocket. That's okay. Okay. Ready. A few more steps and the guy was history. He shook his head, trying to get the sweat out of his eyes. Damn. Sidestepped suddenly, trying not to step on the huge plant that shot out of the boardwalk in front of him. Surprised the guy coming up on him. Bumped into some woman beside him. She pushed him. Damn. Looked for the guy. Looked for the gun. Where was he? That black guy there instead. Staring at him. No, glaring at him. Like he was dirt. Fuck you, man.  
  
Eyes ahead. His friends. Where the hell were they? Have to find them. Have to find them now.  
  
Have to.


	53. Chapter 53

They walked south on the boardwalk. Frankie was keeping quiet, totally out of his element. He'd thought things got hairy working with Johnnie. Man, that was a piece of cake compared to this. He stole a look at the man walking beside him. His face was impassive, but his eyes were darting all over the place. He caught Frankie's glance.  
  
"What's your name, kid?"  
  
"Uh, Frankie. Frankie Santana."  
  
"Okay, Frank. I'm Daryl. You ever killed anyone?"  
  
"God, no!"  
  
"Then stay out of the way. Follow my lead, keep your eyes open for interference."  
  
Frankie looked wide-eyed at Daryl, but Daryl was now watching a man who was walking towards them. To Frankie, the new man looked totally harmless. Just some guy taking in the ocean air. Obviously, Daryl thought otherwise. He started moving off the boardwalk, into a sea of surfboards stacked in the sand. Frankie stayed just a step behind him, watching in dismay as the other guy also stepped off the boardwalk, very casually.  
  
Daryl kept moving steadily away from the boardwalk, away from the crowd. They met a few surfers, retrieving or stacking their boards, but they were there and gone, hardly a glance exchanged. Frankie kept watching the man from the boardwalk. He was moving more deliberately toward them now. Remembering what Daryl had said, Frankie started looking around for anyone else that didn't seem to belong.  
  
"Ok, Frank. Wait here."  
  
Frankie stopped short, puzzled. Daryl kept moving, drawing the other man toward him. And then he just disappeared among the surfboards. Frankie was in awe. It was like magic. Seconds later he wasn't so sure it was a good thing. 'Boardwalk Man', after a moment's hesitation, was now moving in Frankie's direction.  
  
Frankie looked frantically in the direction Daryl had gone, but there was still no sign of him. He'd been told to stay put, but shit...He started, very slowly, moving away from the man, away from Daryl's direction. He examined the surfboards as he moved, trying not to show that he'd seen the man coming toward him. He moved slowly, hoping Daryl would show up. Soon.  
  
It was over before he knew it. 'Boardwalk Man' was almost on top of him when he suddenly stopped, a look of surprise on his face. Very slowly he sank down to the sand, revealing Daryl standing behind him.  
  
"C'mon, Frank, we got people to meet." Daryl's voice was calm, but there was something in his eyes.  
  
They left the man leaning against a surfboard. Frankie stole a look at him as they walked by, and saw the blood seeping from the exact center of his back. Frankie stumbled, nearly falling. Daryl just kept walking.  
  
"Hey, did you have to kill him? I mean, the team, they'd'a just knocked him out and called the cops..."  
  
"I don't have that luxury, Frank. IF the cops even showed up, they'd let him go and I'd have to deal with him all over again." Daryl stopped, looked Frankie in the eye. "We're in a different ballgame here, Frank. I'm not Robin Hood and this isn't fucking Sherwood Forest. These guys have one goal - kill us. Not capture us, not collect a reward. These aren't petty criminals, these are trained professionals. We're sending a message to their boss, Frank. And it's gotta come across loud and clear. Now come on. We've got people to meet."  
  
Walking through the forest of surfboards, they stopped a few minutes later. Frankie looked around, fearing he was about to witness yet another execution. Instead, he saw Daryl carefully studying a row of concession stands on the other side of the boardwalk. And his heart leaped when he saw a familiar head of silver hair.  
  
*****  
  
Kurt put his hand back, pressing on Murdock's chest.  
  
"Move back. Slow. They're splitting up." Kurt moved with Murdock behind the building. "I'll take this guy. You watch the corner; the other one'll be coming from there." Kurt turned and handed Murdock the gun he'd confiscated earlier. "These guys are killers. Remember that."  
  
"I'm not. Remember that." Kurt merely turned back to wait for his man. Murdock moved to the far corner, listening. He really wasn't sure what was going to happen now. Kurt's man would end up dead and there was nothing Murdock could do about that. His own man would be disabled; whether Kurt would leave him like that...  
  
Any further musings were lost when Murdock heard movement around the corner. His man was coming. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kurt tense. This was it. Almost simultaneously the two attackers swung around the corners of the building. Murdock swung his gun up with all his strength, hitting his man under the chin; the man dropped like a rock. He turned to help Kurt, but it was unnecessary. His man already lay on the ground, eyes open, still. Murdock watched, helpless, as Kurt stepped over to the second attacker.  
  
"He dead?"  
  
"No, and it's gonna stay that way." Murdock stood protectively beside the body.  
  
Kurt looked at him for a moment. Nodded his head.  
  
"Okay, head out. We've got a rendezvous to make." Murdock hesitated only a moment. Kurt stared at him. "You want to meet your friend, or join these two?"  
  
Not much choice there. Murdock reluctantly stepped around the corner and moved toward the boardwalk. It took a moment before Kurt was beside him again, and Murdock knew. He could not believe that Face was with these people willingly. He glared at Kurt, who ignored him.  
  
Kurt knew this guy hated his guts. He wasn't feeling that great about himself, either. If this Murdock thought he was enjoying this killing game, he was sadly mistaken. Kurt would have done anything to let these guys live, but he couldn't. He'd searched the first man after breaking his neck, and he hadn't been an Able. It confirmed what they had thought before. This was a cleanup crew. It wouldn't do any good to tell Murdock. He didn't know where Murdock had come in contact with Stockwell, but he was definitely not a former Able. If he said he wouldn't kill, he wouldn't.  
  
He started moving south along the boardwalk. They'd spent too much time on these people. They had to get to the meeting point. He was worried about Sam, and about Randy. He wasn't concerned about Daryl; he knew how to take care of himself. But neither of the other two were up to this kind of thing. And he was uptight about this Murdock character, too. What if Randy didn't know him? What if he was bringing in a Trojan horse?  
  
Kurt looked at Murdock. No. That was definitely not some secret weapon. He sighed. They were close now to the meeting point. He'd know soon enough.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal stepped cautiously toward the concession. He'd been watching these three men for a few minutes now. They were getting just a little too close. They'd started with the stand at the south end. One man went around toward the back, returning a moment later, a minute shake of his head signaling to the others. The second man watched the boardwalk, joined then by the first. The third man began chatting up the help at the counter. He spoke with several, each of them listening for a few minutes before shaking their head. The man then moved to the next stand.  
  
This wasn't good. He'd already decided where his man was hiding. He'd watched the woman in charge go into the back of the stand several times. She'd taken a cup of coffee back the first time, but had returned almost immediately without it. Despite the number of customers coming and going, she'd managed to step to the back several times, each time coming back out with a frown on her face. Something, someone, was in the back, and there was a problem with them.  
  
It wouldn't be long before the men in front reached the stand where she worked. He could almost hear the line they would give her. And she would believe them, he had no doubt. She looked like the kind of person who was too honest to be suspicious of others. Hannibal looked around the area. He didn't know where the rest of team was, and that bothered him for a couple of reasons. One, he hadn't been in touch with any of them; no one was answering their radio. Two, it had been some time since they had taken off in pursuit of the others, and someone should be coming by now. He had a very bad feeling that things had not gone smoothly and it was not a good time for the team to be split up.  
  
He was now just across the boardwalk from the third concession stand. He knew at least one set of eyes had been looking at him. He couldn't be sure, but he didn't think the guy was one of Stockwell's. He was trying to figure out how to draw their attention away when he felt a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Don't move, Colonel."  
  
Murdock. Thank God.  
  
"I've got a friend with me, Colonel. He's, uh, kinda nervous about this."  
  
"I can understand that, Captain." Hannibal didn't turn around, kept watching the stands. "We're all a little stressed. I have three people over here that are getting a little close for comfort myself."  
  
"We've got reinforcements coming. Frankie and friend are moving this way. Any idea where we should be going?"  
  
"Your buddy doesn't know?"  
  
Murdock's hand left his shoulder. Another man moved up, just to Hannibal's side.  
  
"We're supposed to meet around here. Those three are the only ones left. We take them out, we're home free."  
  
"Take them out?"  
  
The new man sighed. "Just keep your mouth shut and let me do my job, mister. You and your friends are in enough trouble as it is."  
  
Hannibal was about to retort when Frankie stopped a few feet away. He looked kinda green. His companion nodded to the man beside Hannibal, then looked at the other three.  
  
Hannibal hazarded a glance at the other man. "Look, I don't know who you guys are, but I think the one you're meeting is inside that last stand. If we keep standing around in this little coffee clutch, our friends over there are going to get the goods before we do. We're already attracting attention."  
  
Hannibal received a sharp look from Murdock's partner.  
  
"Okay, everybody start moving to the back of that stand. Might as well give these guys something to look at. Once we get them out of sight of the crowd, my partner and I will take care of the rest." He looked hard at Hannibal. "I understand you people are pacifists, so just look the other way."  
  
"Now, wait a minute..."  
  
"Listen, 'Colonel', I'm only gonna say this once. You stay out of the way, because if you don't you'll be joining these other three clowns. I'm through fucking around."  
  
Hannibal looked at Murdock and Frankie. He didn't worry about himself or Murdock; Frankie was another matter. He wouldn't stand a chance against these guys. And with the other three to contend with...  
  
Hannibal sighed, regretfully, and led his men toward the back of the concession stand. He shrugged at Murdock as they turned over their weapons.  
  
It was over in a few minutes. Kurt and Daryl had Murdock and Frankie move the bodies behind the garbage cans, hidden from view. Hannibal watched, anger and disgust radiating. He glared at Kurt.  
  
"Happy now?"  
  
Kurt returned the glare.  
  
"'Happy', Colonel? No, I'm not 'happy'. You go ahead and act sanctimonious if you want, but maybe it's time you faced reality. I saw those helicopters and I'm sure you did, too. Those were LAPD, Colonel. The police, tracking us for Stockwell. You really think it would have done any fucking good to tie these guys up and turn them over to the law? Do you have any idea who would have shown up instead of the police? More goons like these.  
  
"Now, the kid says you're looking for some guy named Peck, and that Carla told you he was with us. And Murdock claims you're looking for a friend of yours, also supposed to be with us. Well, neither of us is the guy you're looking for, so it's either Sam or Randy. If Sam's inside, he's safe enough there and that's where he's gonna stay. So we're gonna wait right here for Randy. And you better hope to hell one of them knows who you guys are..."


	54. Chapter 54

BA was starting to sweat. It hadn't taken a lot of effort to take out the first guy. Walked up behind him, arm around his shoulder like a good buddy, quick shift to put his fist over the guy's Adam's apple, a squeeze held just long enough, and the guy went down. BA had held him up long enough to move him off the boardwalk and settle him against a gate post; looked like he was asleep. Then he'd moved on to the next guy.  
  
The next one hadn't gone quite so smoothly. He'd turned just as BA moved up next to him. Pretended to stumble, hit him in the gut, hard, fast. Let him down slowly again, with an added quick punch to the face, just to keep him down. Hadn't felt right, doing that, but BA hadn't had much choice. Couldn't have this guy come up on him unexpectedly later.  
  
He kept moving, like a machine. Hurrying. The third guy knew. He was moving up on BA's guy. Watching BA coming toward him. This was trouble. Hand moving to pocket. The killer glancing over, knew it was coming, too. Didn't look at BA. Started slowing down, preparing. BA moved in closer. It was like a race in slow motion. No one wanting to make a scene, everyone wanting to take care of business before they were stopped. BA never hesitated. His hand grabbed the wrist in an iron vise, forcing it to the man's back, pushing him to the side. A quick jerk upward, bone snapping. The guy fell heavily, BA didn't bother to check his fall, let him go down to the side of the lifeguard tower. Quick look around to see if they'd been noticed. His eyes fell on the killer. For the first time he saw the man.  
  
*****  
  
Randy was moving more slowly now. It was getting harder to navigate. Too many bushes, trees. He kept running into the trees. Weird trees. They talked. He'd never heard of talking trees before. Talk, hell. They swore at him. Weird.  
  
He didn't know how he came to be in this forest in the first place. One minute he was on the beach, looking for his friends, and then poof! here he was in the middle of a fucking forest. He had to get back to the beach, somehow. He stopped, looked around, trying to find a path. Oh, that wasn't good, man. Moved his head and everything else moved, too. Man. He grabbed for a tree, trying to get his balance. Damn tree moved! Shit! Where the hell was he?  
  
He started walking again. Fuck the damn trees. If that one moved, the others could. Just shove 'em out of the way. Hell with it. He had to get out of here. Had to find the beach. Where was the fuckin' beach!? His friends were there. Were. They'd probably left by now. Got tired of waiting for him. Damn. Why hadn't he gotten there sooner? Why had he gotten lost? How? They should've waited. They knew he was coming. They knew that. Why didn't they wait? What was he supposed to do now? He didn't know anyone else out here...  
  
Except Sam.  
  
Sam was here. Sam had come out here with him. Stop. Think. Where was he now? Randy was supposed to meet him somewhere. Damn. Back at the beach. Some buildings. Shit. Shit. Shit. Everyone was at the fucking beach and he was stuck in this fucking jungle with the talking trees!  
  
He felt like crying. God. That would be the end. A Green Beret crying. Because he was lost in the jungle. Crying, like a fucking baby. God. He rubbed his face, hard. Get a grip, man.  
  
He couldn't. He just couldn't do it any more. His head was vibrating, the buzzing was so loud in his ears. His chest hurt, his eyes burned. His friends were gone. Sam was gone. He was lost in this hell-hole. It was no use. He would just walk away into this talking-tree jungle and keep walking until he couldn't walk any more. Until he died. Then it would be over. All the swirling around in his head would end. He forced himself to start moving again. It was hard. He felt like he was walking in quicksand. His legs felt cold, wet. He must be dying. The cold moved further up the farther he walked. That was okay. He could take dying. He welcomed it. Anything was better than being alone. Anything.  
  
*****  
  
BA hadn't seen anyone looking that bad since...Damn. The man was sick. That was so obvious. BA couldn't believe he was still on his feet. But the worst...there was absolutely nothing in those eyes. Not a breath of life. BA could only stare in dismay. How had he come to this? And then the man had turned and walked away.  
  
For a moment, BA just stood there, watching him move away. It didn't matter any more that a man had died. Hell, BA wondered if he even realized what he'd done. He doubted it. Probably didn't even know he was walking.  
  
He knew better than to try and stop him. He had known, from the moment he saw that half-turn and watched the Able fall, that he was dealing with a trained soldier. To try and stop him would be...messy. He would not go quietly. And BA had no intention of either one of them getting hurt. So he would just have to follow along and wait.  
  
The big man shook himself and started after him. He didn't care who noticed him now. Didn't care if there were Ables or anyone else around. He'd deal with them as he had to. He would protect this man. Keep the bad guys away. And BA would be there to catch him when he fell.  
  
It took maybe fifteen minutes and BA knew the end was coming. The steps were getting slower and slower; he was stumbling now, moving as if he were drunk. BA watched, fascinated, when he bumped into a surfer. The beach bum had sworn at him, and he backed off as if frightened. God only knew what he was thinking. If he was thinking at all. He stumbled along, moving toward the shore. BA moved closer. Watched as the man stopped, rubbing his face. When he looked up, BA saw the total despair on his face. He stumbled on once more, walking right into the waves. That was enough. BA strode forward, grabbing him under the arms, pulling him out of the surf. Wrapping one arm over his shoulders, BA started across the beach, heading for his van.  
  
Anyone looking at BA's face would think twice about trying to stop him.  
  
*****  
  
Daryl was 'patrolling' up and down the boardwalk, watching for Randy to show up. It was getting late. The others, the "A-Team", had gotten restless. Kurt allowed the one, Murdock, to leave, finally, to get their van. He figured keeping the other two was enough incentive for him to come back without any reinforcements. There was a parking lot just behind and down a ways from the concession stands. Murdock was to bring the van there. Daryl had come out to the boardwalk when Murdock left. They wanted to be ready to roll as soon as Randy got there.  
  
He noticed a commotion in the crowd just to his right. Down on the beach itself. The crowd moved somehow, like a wave coming up from the water to the boardwalk. And as it parted, Daryl saw a black man with an incredible haircut moving through. It took another second before Daryl realized he was hauling another man with him, arm up over his shoulder. And then he saw who that other man was.  
  
"KURT!"  
  
Daryl started running toward the two men, ignoring the stares and exclamations around him. God knew the pair had already created a stir. The black looked at him with a scowl that could've killed, but Daryl ignored it.  
  
"Randy? Randy!" He stopped in front of them, raising Randy's head gently to look for signs of life. He sighed with relief when Randy's eyes met his, even if it was only for a second. Then they rolled up into his head, and his body sagged.  
  
Daryl looked back toward the concession stand. He saw Kurt staring and then race toward the back again. Okay. Kurt would take care of that end of things. He turned back to the man holding Randy.  
  
Under other circumstances, Daryl would have had second thoughts about issuing orders to someone who looked like this guy; hell, he wouldn't even have considered it. But today was different. Today he'd killed people to keep Randy alive. Today he'd issue orders to the devil himself.  
  
"Bring him over here. Behind the stand. We've got transport." He started back toward the boardwalk, realized the man wasn't moving yet. "Are you deaf, man? We don't have time to waste! Move it!" He didn't wait for a response, just turned and started hurrying away.  
  
BA stared hard at the retreating back. No one talked to him that way. Not even Hannibal. And speaking of Hannibal, why was this guy here and not any of the team? He didn't like it. Not one damn bit. But right now he had to take care of his charge. And if that meant taking shit from this other little twerp, he would.  
  
For now.


	55. Chapter 55

"Maggie?"  
  
Maggie woke with a start, Murdock's face staring at her through the window of the van.  
  
"Oh, good Lord, Murdock, you startled me!" She looked around. "Where's everyone else? Where's Face?"  
  
"Hannibal and Frankie are waiting for me at a concession stand, along with three of the guys you were with. Haven't seen BA or the other guy yet."  
  
"And Face?"  
  
"Haven't seen him yet, Maggie."  
  
"He's not well, Murdock. Not at all."  
  
"Okay, Maggie, you follow me. Got the keys for that thing?"  
  
She nodded and waited while Murdock climbed into the black van. He had to hot wire it; BA wouldn't be happy but he'd deal with that later. He didn't want to waste any time getting back to the guys. Just in case.  
  
The two vehicles pulled into the parking area behind the concession stands just as Kurt came running out. He looked at the gray van, relief flowing over his face.  
  
"Doc! We got trouble. Randy's down and I don't think Sam's doing very well, either. We have to get them out of here."  
  
Kurt hurried back, as Maggie jumped out of the van and slid the side door open. He started issuing orders to the men waiting there.  
  
"Smith! You and the kid get in your van. Daryl will ride with you. I'll bring Randy and Sam with me and the black dude in our van. Soon as we get them loaded in, head out. I want at least ten miles between us and this place. Then you find a motel. We're gonna have to hold up for a few days, so make it comfy. Got it?"  
  
"Look, pal, I..."  
  
Hannibal found himself staring into the barrel of Kurt's gun. "I don't have time for arguments, Smith. You do as you're told now. You can flash your birds around later."  
  
Hannibal glared, but complied. This wasn't the time for a pissing contest. He nodded to Frankie and they moved quickly to the parking area. Daryl waited for BA and Randy and then herded them toward the gray van. Kurt moved to the front of the concession stand.  
  
"Who's in charge here?"  
  
A woman cam up to the counter. "I am. Can I help you?"  
  
"Yeh, I'm looking for a friend of mine. He was supposed to meet me here but I'm a little late...he..."  
  
"Oh, you must be Sam's friend!" She smiled with relief. "He's really not feeling very well. I wanted to call an ambulance, but he didn't want me to. Come around to the side door."  
  
Sam was still sitting in the back office, but he was pale and sweating. He barely opened his eyes when Kurt spoke to him.  
  
"Sam, it's Kurt. We're going to leave now, find a motel to rest up. Can you make it out to the van?"  
  
"If it means a bed, I can make it anywhere." He tried to smile but couldn't quite do it. "Randy?"  
  
"He's with us, but he's not doing too good, either. Maggie's here, though, so it'll be okay. Now, let's get you out to the van."  
  
A few minutes later, Sam was in the back of the gray van, Randy's head in his lap. He'd dismissed Maggie's attempts to check him over, insisting she worry only about Randy for now.  
  
Kurt glanced at the black man sitting in the driver's seat.  
  
"Okay, mister, let's get the hell out of here."  
  
*****  
  
"Dead? All dead?"  
  
"Well, all but three, and they're out of commission."  
  
Able 17 shook his head. This was not the way things were supposed to end. All those men dead. Killed like so many flies. The men who killed them, gone. He'd spoken to Captain Yarbro a few minutes ago. He was livid. He wanted Stockwell's head on a platter. There was no way he could keep this massacre out of the press, Stockwell had to do something, there would be an internal investigation, his job was on the line, and no way in hell would he spare more manpower to try and find that fucking van again...Able 17 shook his head. Yarbro wasn't the only one in deep shit.  
  
John Clifton was not quite as upset as the Able. While not totally unfeeling, his people knew they were expendable. He was more disappointed in their performance than in their deaths. They shouldn't have been so complacent. Now he would have to report to Dr. Barish. It would not be pleasant, but Barish didn't have enough clout to get him fired.  
  
He would have to reconsider his decision about Stockwell's supposed offer. It might be the opportune time for a career change. And he had a pretty good idea of how to make that offer legitimate.  
  
*****  
  
Stockwell leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, ruminating. It had been several hours since the debacle at Redondo. He had spoken to Able 17, to Captain Yarbro, even to John Clifton. Able 17 was demoralized, to say the least. He took the deaths and the failure of the mission very hard. Well, it wasn't the way Stockwell had hoped things would go, and he regretted the deaths, but it would be a learning experience for Able 17. He would have to take some lumps, career-wise, the others would expect that. But he was a good man. He would recover.  
  
Yarbro was being a little more cooperative. No helicopters, no designated search, but his people were watching for both vans now. It grated on Stockwell, but he'd called in a few markers and the press was being told it was a gang-related matter. Of course, had they access to all the details they never would have accepted it, but there were always ways around that. Yarbro's job was safe, for the time being. Stockwell wanted him right where he was.  
  
Clifton was another matter entirely. A man more in Stockwell's mold. Smart, calculating, and not averse to the messier side of life. It hadn't surprised Stockwell that Clifton realized the job offer was bogus. But the man also realized where his future lay. And he had the information to make him valuable to someone like Stockwell. The General smiled. The man was a good investment.  
  
That left only a couple loose ends to deal with. The Team, for one. He was having more people flown in to deal with them. Stockwell had no intention of losing more people, but he wasn't about to let Smith just walk, either. Able 17 would not be in charge, this time. He would have someone who had dealt with the team before.  
  
As to the other men, he was prepared to let them go. One had no connection to Stockwell to begin with, and he could care less what happened to him. The other two, well, they had never really been 'on board'. Chalk it up to experience. He would tighten up the criteria for hiring in the future.  
  
That left Barish. Stockwell could just ignore him, have no further dealings with him. But something about Barish irritated Stockwell. From what Clifton had told him, he had managed to connive his way into a new facility, and had plans for continuing the experiment, trying to determine what went wrong, how to fix it. And he intended to have both Randy and Sam back in his grasp. That would not be in Stockwell's best interest. Not now.  
  
Yes, Barish would have to go. It would be a good initiation for Clifton.


	56. Chapter 56

Hannibal stared at the wall of the motel room. Standard print of a woodland scene. Cheap frame. But the rooms themselves were comfortable. Good for a week or so. That's how long Kurt figured they'd be staying. Unless Stockwell or this Barish guy got too close.  
  
BA and Daryl had taken the vans, BA to hide his, Daryl to dump theirs. A long way from here. Daryl would pick up a rental. They had to have transportation at hand, just nothing that would be recognized. Kurt was still making the decisions. That was okay with Hannibal. He wasn't really thinking straight right now. Wasn't really thinking. Well, except about the men in the next room.  
  
Murdock stepped over to him, saying nothing, just watching.  
  
"I'm okay, Captain. I just..." He shook his head, not knowing what to say next.  
  
"Yeh, we all 'just'."  
  
Murdock stepped away, turned on the TV. Started watching cartoons. He tried to concentrate on them, get involved in them, but it wasn't working. He kept looking over at Hannibal. As if he didn't have enough on his mind. He really wished he could call Dr. Richter. Things were really piling up upstairs. All those men...nothing he could've done about it, but still...  
  
And, of course, Face...  
  
Frankie moved over, sat next to him on the floor. His stomach was still queasy. The first thing he'd done when they got to the room was run to the can. He really wanted to just walk out the door and not look back. Problem was, he didn't know if he could. Didn't know what was waiting for him out there. He could have dealt with Stockwell before all this shit happened. Now, he didn't know. He didn't know what Stockwell would do to him, to the team...And there was this other guy. This mad scientist. Shit. He didn't even know what Kurt or Daryl had in mind. He didn't know anything any more.  
  
Hannibal watched them for a moment longer, then returned his gaze to the painting. In the next room, two men were going through hell of one sort or another. He'd watched them for some time after getting them settled, wanted to stay, to help, but Maggie had finally pushed him out. She kept Kurt with her. For her patients' sake. And that was what was killing Hannibal right now. He'd looked into those pain-filled eyes of his lieutenant, spoken his name, watched as he shrank back when Hannibal had gotten close to him. Face had not known him from Adam.  
  
*****  
  
Maggie sat down, just for a moment. She'd given Sam another dose of antibiotic, and more pain killers, but it wasn't enough. She was very worried about that infection. He needed to be in a hospital with specialists watching over him, not some motel room with a general practitioner. She was seriously concerned that he may not make it.  
  
Randy was another story. He was totally out of it, mumbling and crying in delirium, balling up in terror any time she went near him. There was nothing she could give him without fear of a reaction with all the other crap still in his system. The only thing she could do was keep track of his vitals, in case something started going terribly downhill. Kurt sat on the edge of the bed, wiping off the sweat and trying to make sure he didn't get completely out of control.  
  
"You okay, doc?"  
  
Maggie sighed. "No, but then I'm not the one to be concerned about. I'm afraid Sam has a bad infection. It could kill him if he doesn't get some serious medical attention. Soon. And Randy...I have no idea what to do to help him."  
  
Kurt looked at the floor. He knew things had gotten way out of hand. He blamed himself for Sam. He should've insisted on driving, so Sam wouldn't have gotten tossed around so badly. Hell, he should never have let Randy take charge from the start. Put the inmate in charge of the asylum, that's what he'd done. And now Sam could die. Hell, he and Randy could both end up dead. But Kurt was as lost as the doctor when it came to solutions.  
  
Except...  
  
There was still one avenue to try. It would depend on Smith and his men cooperating. And Daryl. Daryl would have to agree. It would be a lot to ask. A hell of a lot. He wasn't even sure about himself. But if they didn't, there'd be another two bodies. And he was having a hard time living with the ones already out there.  
  
Shit.  
  
"Oh, God!" Maggie shot up out her chair, practically leaping to Randy's bed. Kurt whirled around, staring in horror.  
  
"Turn him on his side! Hurry! He's convulsing!"  
  
*****  
  
They all looked up as BA and Daryl came through the door.  
  
"Okay, the vans are taken care of. BA and I both have keys to the rental so we're ready to roll if need be." Daryl looked at the three men and the TV. "Who's on perimeter watch?"  
  
Hannibal stared at him. Perimeter watch? Shit. He shook his head, chagrined. Where the hell was his mind? He had to put Face's problems to the side; he had the rest of his men to look out for, damn it.  
  
"Murdock, you and Frankie take first watch. BA and Daryl next, then Kurt and I."  
  
BA looked at Hannibal as Murdock and Frankie stood up to leave.  
  
"You okay, Hannibal?"  
  
"I will be, BA. Just gotta get my head out of the clouds." He smiled, trying to reassure not only BA, but all of them.  
  
Daryl was watching the interchange carefully. He was upset that no one was checking for Stockwell or Barish, but it had been clear from the moment Smith had tried to talk to his lieutenant that the Colonel had been thrown off-kilter, badly. He could understand. It would be like Kurt not knowing who Daryl was. Daryl should have stayed close, make sure someone remained in charge. But it was alright now. Smith was pulling himself together. He would be the asset they needed.  
  
Murdock and the kid were about to head out the door when they heard the yelling from the next room. Immediately all the men were running out the door, down the hall. They found the door locked, and Daryl pounded on it, hard.  
  
"Kurt! Doc! What's going on?"  
  
"Wait!" was the only response they got.  
  
It was only a minute or two, but it seemed like hours, before the door opened. Kurt stepped out, taking a quick look back before closing the door.  
  
"C'mon. We have to talk. All of us." Without another word he moved the men back to their room.  
  
"Have a seat. This might take a while." Kurt stood in the corner of the room, while the others sat on the beds and floor. BA stood guard at the door, scowling angrily.  
  
"We need to debrief. I need to know what you know," he nodded his head at Hannibal, "and you need to know what we know. And then we have to make some decisions. Hard decisions."  
  
"What happened in there, Kurt?" Hannibal would debrief, but he wanted to know about Face, now.  
  
"Randy went into convulsions. Not unexpected. It could happen again. Probably will happen again. Maggie's taking care of it. Now, Colonel Smith, you want to start?"  
  
Hannibal wasn't satisfied with Kurt's answer, but he could see it would do no good to pursue it for now. This man in front of him was 'in charge', for now, and they did need to compare notes.  
  
"Okay. It started when I got burned on the set..."  
  
The discussion took a long time, sorting through the myriad puzzle pieces that comprised the last few months. At one point, Kurt looked Hannibal straight in the eye, and Hannibal knew something very bad was coming.  
  
"From the notes Carla was able to give us, the experiment was actually in two parts. Randy's memories were suppressed, by severe psychological conditioning. In effect, his past life, with notable exceptions, was wiped clean. He had no past. That was part of the experiment. To see how well he would cope, to see what combination of drugs worked to maintain that conditioning. Sam's job was to guide him along, report back to Barish, basically keep an eye on things. But Sam was also the other half of the experiment.  
  
"Sam went through the same 'conditioning'. His past life was erased, for all intents and purposes. There were two differences. One, he was not, thankfully, given any drug 'therapy'. Two, he was given a 'new' past. He was fed information and 'memories' at the same time his real past was suppressed. If he answered a question correctly about his real past, he was punished. If he answered the question correctly about his made-up past, he was rewarded. The real past became a nightmare, a figment of imagination. He came to accept Barish's version as the truth. Again, there were some things he was allowed to retain, just as Randy was. Otherwise, he had a completely different life and history."  
  
It was not Hannibal who reacted the most violently. Hannibal merely looked at the floor, shaking his head, hands over his eyes. BA started pacing angrily between the door and the far wall. Frankie looked wide eyed, convinced he was living in a science-fiction plot. But Murdock nearly went ballistic.  
  
Jumping up from his seat on the floor, he'd shouted, "How could anyone do that? Good God, he stole two men's lives! What...why...who gave him the right to..." He slumped down to the floor again, tears in his eyes. "God, Face...he didn't like much of his past anyway, but to take even that away ..."  
  
"Will it come back? Can it come back?" Hannibal was looking at Kurt now, anger simmering just below the surface.  
  
"I don't know. That was part of the experiment. To see if the charade could be maintained over the long haul. I suppose, with the right psychiatric help, they can be restored. To what extent, I have no idea."  
  
There was dead silence for several minutes. Kurt finally broke it, having allowed what he considered to be a sufficient time for this news to sink in. He continued with the debriefing, factually and emotionless. Now was not the time to let his own anger and disgust out.


	57. Chapter 57

Kurt had finished with the debriefing. Laid out together, it was a depressing picture. But like it or not, he had to forge ahead. There was no time to waste.  
  
"We have to make some hard decisions now. Decisions about both Randy and Sam. Neither one of them is in good shape. Dr. Sullivan is especially concerned about Sam. He needs to be in a hospital. Soon. There's some kind of infection going on, and it's killing him, pure and simple. Randy...well, I just don't know if he's going to make it through this withdrawal or not. The obvious problem is that we can't just take them to a hospital. Both Stockwell and Dr. Barish are going to be watching every admission for miles around here."  
  
"What about the one over by Bad Rock? At least we'd have some cooperation from the sheriff there."  
  
"They won't make it that far. Plus they need more than a rural hospital can supply. We have to have help. Major league help."  
  
Hannibal had a pretty good idea where Kurt was going, and he didn't like it. Not one bit. But what it came down to was what was more important. And, like it or not, there was no contest.  
  
"Okay, Kurt. Let's have it all. I think you know what the answer's going to be, at least from us." Hannibal looked at his remaining men. He knew they would follow his lead; he only hoped it was going to be the right decision for all of them.  
  
Kurt was looking at Daryl. He didn't need to explain anything to him, not really. If they were lucky, he and Daryl would be able to come out of this in one piece. The question really was, were they willing to make the sacrifice for two men they barely knew. Hell, didn't know at all, when it came down to it. Two men who weren't even who they thought they were.  
  
Daryl looked back at Kurt. He knew where this was going. And he didn't like it. But he thought of the carnage on the beach. Maybe saving these two men was enough, maybe not. But it was a start toward redemption. He would go along with Kurt.  
  
"Okay. This is what we have to do..." Kurt began outlining his plan. And kept his fingers crossed that it would work out the way he hoped.  
  
*****  
  
The jet was due to land at LAX in less than an hour. It had been a long and boring flight. Except, of course, for that call. That ten minute call that had put her back in the game. Even more so than Stockwell's summons from Europe. That ten minute call gave her the upper hand one more time, and she intended to play it for all she was worth.  
  
By the time her plane landed, Carla had all her ducks in a row. She waved off the chauffer waiting at the gate and headed for the nearest bank of phones. She had to work quickly now, before she lost the edge she had been handed on a silver platter. There was some resistance from her contacts at first; news of her 'banishment' had spread. It took not a little guile, and some threats, to convince people she was back, in more ways than one. Forty minutes later she slipped past the still-waiting chauffer and collected her rental car.  
  
*****  
  
Two cargo vans pulled up to the back of the motel. One of the drivers headed toward a set of rooms off to the side. He knocked, and was immediately admitted. A few moments later, he was escorted to a second room. He spent several minutes inside, before hurrying out, signaling to the other driver. Three men emerged from the vans, hauling two gurneys. They watched the area around them, alert. They hurried into the second room, all the while under the watchful eyes of several rather imposing looking men. Those men stayed behind as the two gurneys, now occupied, were pushed toward the vans, followed closely by a woman. The gurneys were carefully loaded and the vans drove off, fast. The men left behind slowly walked back into their room.  
  
It had taken less than fifteen minutes.  
  
*****  
  
John Clifton moved quickly up the steps. He glanced at his watch. Good. Right on schedule. His schedule, anyway. His appointment wasn't for another 45 minutes. He would be unexpected. He smiled to himself. There was none better.  
  
He had had a long meeting with Stockwell. They had come to an understanding. Mutual benefit. What Able 17 had said was true. Clifton's other government contacts would not bother him. He would be free to move into Stockwell's organization unhindered, unthreatened. In return, he would provide Stockwell with information and 'services'. His first assignment was on the third floor of this building.  
  
He took the service elevator. Security was lax, but then it was only provided for the privacy of the clients, not for safety. He glanced up and down the empty hallway before proceeding to the door. Another quick check, a knock on the door. An assistant of some kind opened it. Too bad.  
  
He moved toward the inner door, again checking the hallway before proceeding. Another knock. This time answered by the man himself.  
  
"Good afternoon, Doctor. I'm afraid I'm a little early..."  
  
*****  
  
BA was watching the parking lot from the motel room window. He saw the car pull in, recognized the driver. He turned to the others in the room.  
  
"Time, Hannibal."  
  
Hannibal looked at his men. None of them were happy, but they would not reconsider. Not for an instant. He wouldn't even ask them.  
  
He looked at Kurt and Daryl, standing unhappily in one corner. Kurt was chain-smoking.  
  
"Guys..." they looked up at him. "Hey, this is not your fault. Not your problem. You two kept my man alive, at great risk to yourselves, and at great cost. I understand now what was going down on the beach, and frankly, I would've done the same damn thing. You could've walked away back in Colorado and you didn't. I owe you two. More than you know."  
  
"Even now?" Kurt was almost glaring at him.  
  
"Even now. Like I said, you could've walked away; you didn't. You came up with a solution. So, maybe it isn't working out completely like we would have liked. What in life does, right? All in all, we won't be any better or worse off than we were before. Just a lot smarter." Hannibal stepped over to them, held out his hand. "Thank you."  
  
Without hesitation, first Kurt, then Daryl, shook hands with the Colonel. Murdock followed suit, then Frankie. BA looked at the two men, nodded. Kurt smiled; Daryl gave an answering nod. They watched in silence as the four men left the room.  
  
"So, now what, Kurt?"  
  
"Well, Daryl, I think a long, leisurely drive back. We've got a few days before we'll be in contact again. Time to rest up and get our shit together."  
  
Daryl nodded. "You think this is going to work out? Really?"  
  
Kurt shrugged. "What other choice do we have?"  
  
*****  
  
They rode in silence to pick up their van. Hannibal noted the sharp look they were given as they pulled up next to it and stepped out of the car.  
  
"Don't worry. I gave you my word."  
  
"And I gave you mine, Colonel. We both have a lot to lose if this doesn't work. I'll keep my end up. Make sure your men do the same."  
  
Hannibal didn't bother to answer. He settled into his seat in the van, lit a cigar, nodded to BA to follow the car. They were going to a safe house, to wait. Wait for word on Face. Wait to see if the deal brokered by Kurt would pan out. Wait to see where their lives were headed.  
  
He looked at the men in the van. BA, unreadable, his usual scowl in place. Murdock, bouncing a ball from hand to hand, concentrating on that and only that. Frankie, sitting in Face's seat, gloomily staring at the back of Hannibal's seat. Hannibal felt bad about Frankie. The one who was really giving up the most. But who had done it willingly enough. Hannibal would have to rethink his ideas about Frankie. With the right treatment, a little more respect handed out, he would be a good man. Good for the team.  
  
Maybe, just maybe, things would work out for the best.  
  
*****  
  
Maggie sat in the cafeteria, sipping idly at cold coffee. She'd been working closely with the doctors here. Now, there was nothing more to do except wait and hope. Carla had shown up earlier. Talked with Maggie and the other doctors, filling in some gaps. Maggie had been insistent that both men be treated with equal care. They were her patients, after all. It didn't matter that one was a friend, one a stranger. Carla had agreed. Maggie wasn't fooled about any altruism her part. She knew full well that Carla already had plans for the other man. If he lived.  
  
Carla was still upstairs, waiting for the latest test results. She had a great deal riding on this. If Peck died, she lost everything. If he lived, her position was set for life. She could write her own ticket. The other man was just the icing on the cake. She would only be enhanced by his living; it wouldn't matter that much if he didn't.  
  
She watched the doctors now, standing in the hallway, conferring. The tests must be back. When the head honcho motioned to her, she got up and walked over, looking more calm than she felt. These tests would tell if they were winning or losing.  
  
*****  
  
The morning sun was shining through his window. He normally enjoyed it, but he was in a bad mood today. He stood at the offending window, glaring out at the world below. He'd been outsmarted and it did not sit well with him. True, he was getting what he wanted, but the cost to his pride was tremendous.  
  
He glanced at the clock. Another hour before she'd be calling him again, with an update. They would know for sure if Peck would live then. Of course, it would be a long haul until he was completely recovered, if that happened at all. And then there was the therapy to go through, to try and restore his memory. Again, the benefits outweighed the costs involved.  
  
Stockwell stared out of his window once again. All in all, he could be satisfied. He allowed himself a small smile. He'd gained one other thing in all of this.  
  
An assistant who had proved she could be much, much more. Had lived up to his expectations.  
  
*****  
  
Carla arrived at the safe house with Maggie. It would be far easier for the doctor to explain what had happened, what they should expect. The two women had come to an understanding of sorts. The doctor understood that what was happening was the only way to reach a positive outcome. The only way to keep everyone she cared about safe. She didn't have to like it. She just had to accept it.  
  
The team were all in the living room, waiting. It had been a long week of anticipation, and they were more than ready to get out of the house.  
  
"Dr. Sullivan will give you the details in a moment regarding Lieutenant Peck. As for yourselves, you will be flying back to Langley first thing in the morning. You will return to the compound, and resume your assignments for the General. As soon as Peck is able, he will join you there. As promised, he will get the psychiatric treatment needed to try and restore his memory. The rest of the deal remains the same as originally agreed to. You successfully complete the assignments, the number of which to be determined by the General, and you will all receive your pardons."  
  
"So, back to square one, huh, Colonel?" Murdock picked at the lint on his cap.  
  
"Yeh. With one exception. The team will be complete again."  
  
Murdock wasn't the only one who smiled at that.


	58. EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE  
  
"Ready to be Gemini's ace reporter, Face?"  
  
"Hmm? Oh, yeh, sure, Hannibal. All set." Face idly adjusted his tie.  
  
Hannibal looked at him more closely. It had become a habit, checking on him. Things were progressing rapidly, but still...  
  
"You sure, Face? If you're not ready..."  
  
"No, I'm ready, Hannibal. Really. I just...I don't know. Wondering, y'know? Hits me every now and then. Wondering what he's doing. How he's doing."  
  
"Yeh. I know. Can't be easy. You were with him a long time."  
  
"I just wish Carla would let me know...all I ever get from her is that he's doing okay. Fitting in. Adjusting." He chuckled, mirthlessly. "Just like me."  
  
"You're doing fine, Face. It's just going to take a little more time. You're remembering more and more every day."  
  
"Yeh. Yeh, you're right. Things will work out for the best, for both of us. He's strong. Always was. Much stronger than they thought. Thank God for that. Otherwise..."  
  
"Don't think about the otherwise, Face. No gain in that. He'll be back where he belongs soon enough, and you are where you belong. Happy ending."  
  
"Well, except for Barish."  
  
"Yeh, well, like I said. Everyone ended up where they belonged."  
  
Again, Face chuckled without mirth. "Yeh. Well, let's go scam some East Germans, shall we?"  
  
"Piece of cake, Face. Piece of cake."  
  
"Yeh, right..."


End file.
